M      l:  '  roe  t<>  m:ik  •  tin-  inquiry, 

PAOI 


'WAY  DOWN  EAST; 


OR, 


of     imlw  1Cifi\ 


r,  V     SEE  A     SMITH, 


MAJOR   JACK    DOWNING 


X  KU'    YORK  : 
J  .    0  .    DERBY,    119    NASSAU    S  T  R  E  K  T  . 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON    &    CO. 

I  ii  : 

H.    \v.    i»  i:  ::  ;;  v  . 
1864, 


EXTCRKD  •oeordiiiK  to  Aet  of  CouffreM,  in  111*  y.uir  IcM,  I  y 

^  i:  i;  A   s  M  i  T  H, 

<  llj--  1'nil.  ,i  Sl;il.-«  Mutrirt  C.virt,  f..r  ill.-  S..uthi-ni  I».*tr 


W.  II.  TIN80N, 

•.'I  It.',  kni.'in  at. 


CONTENTS. 


MM 

!.— JOHN   WADLKIOH'8  TRIAL    .                                 •'' 

II.— YAXKKK  CHRISTMAS '-"•' 

III. — TIIK  TOCUH   TARN 

IV. — CIlKtSTOrilKR   CROTCHET 

V. — POLLY   ORAT   AND  TIIR  DOCTORS W 

VI.— JKRRT  OCTTRIDGB 1 '-'•'» 

TISO   TIIK    PVUISII '•'>•' 

MUNKY-DICGKRS   ASI)   nLO    NIC! 

ix.— rrrm  rrsi-rr\L 21'" 

X.— TIIK    SI-KCri.MdK '-':!>'' 

XI.— A   DCTCB   WKDDIXU SC,)', 

XII. — BILLY   SXCD --  ' 

xiii.— TUK  rrvrKis  rRFSiirr 

XIV.— A    RACK   FOR    A    SWECTHKAKT •  889 

XT.— OLD   KlKRi.   TIIK   PAXTORR  .  

'-    WiriC 


M15118G 


gofon    (bast/ 


CHAPTER  L 

JOHN   WADLEIGIl's   TRIAL. 

The  Early  Jurisprudence  of  Neve  England,  including  a  Sketch  of 
John   Wadleigh's  Trial  before  Squin-   Winslow,  for  Sleeping  in 
ug  on  the   Lord's  Day;   with  a   brief  Report  of  Lawyer 
Chandler's  memorable  Speech  on  the  occasion. 

Tin-:  pilgrim  fathers  of  New  England,  and  their 
children  of  the  first  and  second  generaliaDB,  are  justly 
renowned  for  their  grave  character,  their  moral 
uprightness,  which  sometimes  was  rather  more  than 
perpendicular,  and  the  vigilant  circumspection  which 
each  one  exercised  over  his  neighbor  as  well  as  him 
self.  It  is  true  that  Connecticut,  from  an  industrious 
promulgation  of  her  "  I  Hue  Laws,"  has  acquired  more 
fame  «m  this  -core  than  other  port!., us  of  the  "univer 
sal  Yankee  nation,"  hut  thU  negative  testimony 


'  V  A  Y       Do  \V  N       K  A  BT  . 


against  the  rest  of  New  England  ought  not  to  be 
allowed  too  much  weight,  for  wherever  the  light  of 
history  does  gleam  upon  portions  further  "Down  Ka<t," 
it  shows  a  people  not  a  whit  behind  Connecticut  in 
their  resolute  enforcement  of  all  the  decencies  of  life, 
and  their  stern  and  watchful  regard  for  the  well-being 
of  society.  The  justice  of  this  remark  will  suffi 
ciently  appear  by  a  few  brief  quotations  from  their 
judicial  records. 

In  the  early  court  records  of  New  Hampshire,  in 
the  year  1655,  may  be  found  the  following  entry : 

"The  Grand  Jury  do  present  the  wife  of  Mathew 
Giles,  for  swearing  and  reviling  the  constable  when  he 
came  for  the  rates,  and  likewise  railing  on  the 
pmdenshal]  men  and  tlu'ir  wives.  Sentenced  to  }x> 
whipped  seven  stripes,  or  to  be  redeemed  with  forty 
shillings,  and  to  be  bound  to  her  good  behavior." 

Another  entry  upon  the  records  the  same  year  is  as 
follows : 

"  The  Grand  Jury  do  present  Jane  Canny,  the  wife 
of  Thomas  Canny,  for  beating  her  son-in-law,  Jeremy 
Tilibetts,  and  his  wife;  and  likewise  f«>r  striking  her 
husband  in  a  canoe,  and  giving  him  reviling  speeches. 
Admonished  by  the  court,  and  to  pay  two  shillings 
and  sixpence." 


,1  U  il  A   I.  .  7 

It'  it  is  con>istent  with  rational  philosophy  to  draw 
an  inference  fn>m  two  tacts,  we  might  here  consider 
it  proved,  that  the  pilgrim  ladies  of  1655  had  consider 
able  human  nature  in  them.  And  from  the  following 
record  the  same  year,  it  would  appear  al-o  that  there 
were  some  of  the  male  gender  among  them  at  that 
day,  who  still  exldbited  a  little  of  the  old  Adam. 

"  Philip  Edgerly,  for  giving  out  reproachful 
speeches  against  the  worshipful  Captain  Weggcn.  is 
sentenced  hy  the  court  to  make  a  puhlic  acknowledgt- 
ment  three  several  days  ;  the  first  day  in  the  head  of 
the  train  band  ;  the  other  two  days  are  to  be  the  most 
public  meeting  days  in  Dover,  when  Oyster  Kiver 
•pie  shall  be  there  present;  which  is  to  be  done 
within  four  months  after  this  present  day.  And  in 
case  he  doth  not  perform  as  aforesaid,  he  is  to  ]ti> 
whipped,  not  «-\.-»-,-.linir  ten  stripes,  and  t«»  be  fined 
five  pounds  to  the  county." 

The  reader  cannot  but  notice  in  this  ca>e.  la<t  cited, 
with  what  stern  pin-p..-,-  and  judicial  acumen  the 
severity  of  the  penalty  is  made  t«>  correspond  with  the 
enormity  of  the  offence.  The  crime,  it  will  be  F< 
was  an  aggravated  one.  The  gentleman  against  whom 
the  reproachful  sp»-»-ches  wen-  utteivd  wa>  a  ('a]«tain: 
and  not  only  a  Captain,  but  a  Worshipful  Captain. 


8 

AV  bet  her  Captain  Weggen  WBS  the  oominAnding  otlicer 
of  tlie  train  band,  or  not,  does  not  appear ;  but  there 
was  an  appropriate  fitness  in  requiring,  that  the  crime 
of  uttering  iT]»  n>ach  t'ul  speeches  against  any  Capt 
should  be  publicly  acknowledged  at  the  head  of  the 
train  band.  There  the  culprit  would  have  to  lace  all 
the  officers,  from  the  captain  down  to  the  corporal,  and 
all  the  soldiers,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  com 
pany,  could  point  the  linger  of  scorn  at  him. 

But  as  the  injured  party  in  this  case  was  a  worx/t'j>- 
fid  captain,  it  was  very  proper  that  a  penalty  of  a 
higher  grade  should  be  affixed  to  the  peoteaoe,  Hence 
the  withering  exposure  of  the  offender  to  make  public 
acknowledgments  on  two  several  occasions,  "  to  be 
the  most  public  meeting  days  in  Dover,  when  <  ></- 
River  people  shaU  be  there  present ." 

\Vhatc\cr  may  be  said  at  the  present  day,  as  to  the 
temperance  reformation  being  of  modern  origin,  it 
may  he  affirmed  without  liaxard  that  the  good  people 
of  New  England  two  hundred  years  a<n>,  were  decided 
and  strenuous  advocates  of  temperance.  They  were 
not  tee-totallers;  they  did  not  prohibit  the  use  of  1 1 1 
"  creature  comforts  "  altogether ;  but  if  any  one  among 
them  proved  to  be  a  wine-bibber,  Off  abided  his 
privilege  of  drinking,  woe  be  to  him,  he  had  to  feel  the 


JOHN      WAIM.K  If,  II  '  s       1KIAI.. 


fon-e  of  the  law  and  go,,d  government.  Witness  the 
following  court  record  in  New  Hump-hire,  in  lfj:>7  : 
"Thomas  Crawl  it-  and  Mathew  Layn,  presented  for 
drinking  fourteen  pints  of  wine  at  one  time.  Fine  I 
three  shillings  and  fnurpence,  and  two  fees  and 
nxpeo 

The  good  people  of  the  province  of  Maine  in  tli-><e 
early  days  have  aU-»  left  proof,  that  they  were  <>n  the 
side  of  industrious  and  gnud  habits  and  wlmlesoine, 
instrueti"ii.  Tlieir  Grand  Juries  present  as  follow-  : 

••  \\'e  present  Charles  Putnni,  f«»r  living  an  idle, 
la/.y  life,  fnll.iwing  n.»  settled  employment.  Major 
I'.:  .  ant  IVml»let'»n  joined  with  the  Select mi«n  (rf  Cape 
P'-rpiH  to  dispose  of  Potum  according  to  law,  ami  to 
]»nt  him  under  family  government." 

So  it  seem-  there  were  snme  men,  even  in  the  early 
day- of'  the  I'ilgrims  who  enjoyed  that  nio>v  preva 
lent  luxury  of  modern  times,  living  mat.  r  faubily 
govtr 

Again  say  the  (I rand  .lury,  "  We  present  the 
i-tmen  of  the  to\vn  ••!'  Kittery,  for  not  taking  care, 
that  their  children  and  youth  he  taught  their  cate- 
chi<m  and  e«lin-ati«»n  according  to  law." 

Th.-y  to,,k  good  care  in  those  good  old  times  that 

the   dealing    between    man    and    man    should    l»e    on 

1* 


10 

equitable,  and  fair  principles,  and  without  extortion. 
In  1640,  the  Grand  Jury  say — 

".Imprimis,  we  do  present  Mr.  John  Winter,  of 
Richmond's  Island,  for  extortion;  for  that  Thomas 
Wise,  of  Casco,  hath  declared  upon  his  oath  that  he 
paid  unto  Mr.  John  Winter  a  nohle  (six  shillings  and 
eight  pence),  for  a  gallon  of  aqua  vitie,  about  two 
months  since;  and  1'urther,  he  declareth  that  the  said 
Winter  bought  of  Mr.  George  Luxton,  when  he  was 
last  in  Casco  Bay,  a  hogshead  of  aqua  vitee  for  seven 
pounds  sterling." 

The  punishment  inflicted  on  Mr.  John  Winter,  for 
extorting  from  his  customer  two  hundred  per  cent, 
profit  on  his  merchandise,  is  not  stated ;  but  if  one 
Thomas  Warnerton,  who  flourished  in  the  neighbor 
hood  at  that  time,  had  any  agency  in  fixing  the 
penalty,  it  probably  went  rather  hard  with  him;  for 
this  latter  gentleman  must  have  had  a  special  intere>t 
in  keeping  the  price  of  the  article  down,  inasmuch  as 
it  is  related  of  him.  that  in  taking  leave  of  a  friend, 
who  was  departing  for  England,  "he  drank  to  him  a 
pint  of  /•///-/ A  /v/,  alias  rum,  at  a  draught." 

Juliana  Cloyse,  wife  to  John  OloyBe,  was  -pre 
sented  for  a  tah'beaivr  tr<»m  house  to  lnm>r,  M-ftin^ 
diil'erences  between  neighbors."  It  was  the  mis- 


.1  .HI  N       \\    A  1.  I.  I! :  I  .,   II  '  -       1   K  I  A  I..  11 

fortune  of  Juliana  Cloyse  that  she  lived  at  too  earlv 
an  age  of  the  world.  Had  her  lot  been  cast  in  this 
day  and  generation,  she  would  probably  have  met 
with  no  such  trouble. 

Thomas  Tailor  was  presented  "  for  abusing  Captain 
i •'.  liaynes,  being  in  authority,  for  thee-in<j  and  thou- 
•//«</  <.f  him,  and  many  other  abusivtrspeeches." 

At  a  town  meeting  in  Portsmouth,  March  12, 1672, 
"  voted,  that  if  any  shall  smoke  tobacco  in  the  meet 
ing-house  at  any  public  meeting,  he  shall  pay  a  line 
of  five  shillings,  for  the  benefit  of  the  town." 

In  a  previous  year,  September  L'.Mh,  at  a  town 
meeting,  it  was  "ordered  that  a  cage  be  made,  or 
some  other  means  be  invented  by  the  Seleetmen,  fu 
jiunixh  such  as  sleep  or  take  tobacco  on  the  Lord's 
day.  at  meeting,  in  the  time  of  the  public  e.v  r< 

It  appears  from  this  ivrord  that  tin-  town  reposed 
unlimited  confidence  in  the  lowers  of  the 

Selectmen  ;  and  it  appear-  also  that  tlio  energetic 
order  of  the  town,  passed  «>n  this  occasion,  was  a  few 
years  afterwards  successfully  carried  into  practical 
operation.  The  following  is  preserved  on  the  town 
records,  July  i>4.  1771. 

'k11ie  Selectmen  airree  witli  John  Pickerinir  /"  ' 
a  cage  twelve  feet  square,  with  stocks  ?/,«/'//,;/,  //,  ,md  a 


12  'WAY     DOWN     K  A  s  T  . 

pillory  on  the  top,  a  coin- ,  /,;,  ,,t  space  from  the  west 
end  of  the  meeting-house" 

Tims  far  we  have  confined  ourselves  to  oilicial 
records;  but  some  of  the  unofficial  and  unwritten 
records  of  those  days  are  of  e^ial  importance  to  be 
transmitted  to  posterity,  one  of  which  it  is  our  present 
purpose  to  endeavor  to  rescue  from  oblivion. 

The  affair  of  the  cage,  with  stocks  inside,  and  a  pil 
lory  on  the  top,  served  t<>  wake  up  the  congregation 
for  a  while,  so  that  no  one  was  caught  napping  or 
chewing  tobacco   in   the  meeting-house  during  the 
public  exercises  for  several  Sabbaths  after  this  inven 
tion  of  the  Selectmen  became  a  "fixed  tact"  at  the 
west  end  of  the  meeting-house.     As  the  novelty  of  the 
thing  wore  off,  however,  the  terror  in  some  degree 
seemed  to  depart  with  it.     There  wa- a  visible  care 
lessness  on  the  part  of  several  old  offenders,  who  were 
observed  to  relax  their  attention  to  the  service-,  wear 
ing  very  sleepy  looks,  sometimes  yawning,  and  occa 
sionally  putting  themselves  into   unseemly  positions, 
concealing  their  faces,  so  that  the  searching  scrutinv 
of  old  Deacon  "Winslow  himself  could  not  decide  for 
certainty  \\lietlier  they  were  asleep  ..;•  not. 

Among  these  delinquents,  John   Wad leigh  seemed 
to  be  the  most  conspicuous,  often  leaning  his  head  so 


.JOHN       W  A  IU.KK,  Il'ft      TRIAL.  13 

a-  r«)  hide  his  eves  during  half  sermon  time.     He  was 
al-o  irrutf  ami  >tuM".ni   when  <}ucstioned  on  the  suh- 

.  So  marked  was  the  periodical  reeling  ot'his  head, 
that  I>cacoM  Win-low  heiran  to  watch  liim  as  narrow 
ly  as  a  cat  would  a  mouse.  Not  that  tho  Deacon 
neglected  the  sermon  ;  he  always  took  care  of  that 
matter,  and  tor  his  own  edification,  a-  well  as  an 
amj.le  to  th.  nation,  he  steadily  kept  one  eye 

on  the  minister,  while  the  other  was  on  John  Wadleiirh. 
'Hu-re  l-eiran  to  be  sundry  shmgs  of  the  shoulders 
among  the  knowing  ones  of  the  oonu;ri.,,-;,t;(m<  n,,,i 
remark-  were  occasionally  dn.pt,  such  as  "Don't  you 
helieve  John  AVadleiirh  was  a-leej.  during  half  the 
.  rduy  f'  with  the  reply,  "Why  y.-.  I 
know  he  wa<  ;  1-ut  he  must  lo<.k  out.  or  he'll  l.ny  the 
rahl.it,  for  Deacon  AVin>low  keep>  hi-  eye  upon  him, 
and  if  h.e  don't  make  an  example  of  him  hefoiv  long, 
I  won't  Lrm--  airain." 

It  v.  --red  liy  ^oine.  who  were  out  of  the  pale 

of  the  church,  that  the  Deacon's  watchful  power-  with 

v.Vadleiirh   were  a  little  more  acute  in  con- 

bf    Wadleiirh's    having    over-reached    him 

:.-what    in  the  sale  of  ,  at  which  the  I 

who  pride<l  hin  his  --und   judirnu-nt,   it 

felt    a  little   mortified.     'I 


14 

however  was  a  very  upright  specimen  of  the  old 
puritan  race,  and  it  is  not  probable  his  sense  of  justice 
and  right  was  much  warped.  True,  he  manifested  con 
siderable  zeal  in  looking  after  the  delinquencies  of 
John  Wadleigh,  but  his  "  zeal  was  according  to  know 
ledge  ;"  he  knew  Wadleigh  to  be  a  disregarder  of  the 
Sabbath,  sleepy-headed  and  profane,  and  he  did  there 
fore  feel  a  zealous  and  charitable  desire  to  administer 
to  him  a  little  wholesome  reproof,  provided  it  could 
be  done  in  a  just,  lawful,  and  Christian  manner. 

He  even  felt  it  excusable,  to  accomplish  so .  good  a 
purpose,  to  enter  into  a  pious  fraud  with  Parson 
Moody.  He  had  observed  that  though  Wadleigh 
generally  appeared  to  be  asleep  at  the  close  of  the 
sermon,  yet  when  the  congregation  immediately  rose 
up  to  prayers,  he  always  managed  some  how  or  other 
to  be  up  with  them,  but  with  a  flushed  face  and 
guilty  countenance.  The  Deacon  believed,  and  it 
was  the  general  opinion,  that  Wadleigh  was  asleep 
on  these  occasions,  and  that  when  the  congregation 
began  to  rise,  it  always  awoke  him.  He  therefore 
suggested  to  Parson  Moody,  that  on  the  next  Sabbath, 
tit  the  close  of  the  sermon,  instead  of  immediately 
coiniiK-ncing  his  prayers,  he  should  sit  quietly  down 
three  or  four  minutes,  as  though  he  were  a  little 


JOHN      WADM-.  I'r  H'B     TRIAL.  15 

fatigued,  or  had  some  notes  to  look  over,  and  see 
whether  Wadleigh  would  not  continue  to  sleep  on, 
while  the  attention  of  every  one  awake  would  of 
be  attracted  to  the  Parson.  This  little  plan 
was  tried,  but  without  any  very  satisfactory  result. 
It  added  something  to  the  presumptive  testimony  in 
the  case,  but  nothing  clear  and  positive.  Wadleigh 
held  his  head  down  about  half  a  minute  after  the 
monotonous  tones  of  the  preacher's  voice  had  ceased 
t<»  fall  upon  his  ear,  when  he  started  suddenly,  rose  to 
his  feet,  looked  round  a  moment  confusedly,  and  sat 
down  again. 

At  last,  however,  repeated  complaints  having  been 
made  to  the  Grand  Jury,  they  saw  fit  to  "present 
John  Wadleigh  for  a  common  sleeper  on  the  Lord's 
day,  at  the  publique  meeting,"  a  thing  which  Deacon 
Winslow  earnestly  declared  they  ought  to  have  done 

weeks  before  they  did. 

The  Deacon  was  in  fart  the  most  important  person 
age  in  town,  being  not  only  the  tir>t  otlicer  in  the 
ehureh.  but  also  a  civil  magistrate,  before  whom  most 
<»f  the  important  causes  in  the  place  were  tried.  Of 
course  the  offender  Wadleigh,  when  the  Grand  Jury 
had  once  caught  him  in  their  net,  had  a  pretty  fair 
chance  of  having  justice  meted  «»ut  to  him.  The 


16 

jury  met  early  on  Monday  morning,  and  the  first 
business  before  them  was  the  case  of  Wadleiirh, 
against  whom  a  fresh  lot  of  complaints  had  come  in. 
They  were  not  long  in  finding  a  bill  against  him  as 
above-mentioned,  and  a  warrant  was  put  into  the 
hands  of  Bill  Cleaves,  the  constable,  to  hunt  Wad- 
leigh  up,  and  take  him  before  Deacon  'Squire  Wins- 
low,  and  summon  in  the  witnesses  for  his  trial. 

Bill  Cleaves  tipped  his  hat  to  the  'Squire  as  he 
went  by  upon  his  official  duties,  and  gave  him  to 
understand  what  was  going  on.  Whereupon  'Squire 
Winslow  proceeded  to  put  his  house  in  court-order, 
having  the  floor  of  his  large  open  hall,  where  he  gen 
erally  held  his  courts,  swept  and  newly  sanded,  and 
things  all  put  to  rights.  One  o'clock  was  the  hour 
appointed  for  the  trial,  for  as  the  neighborhood  all 
dined  at  twelve,  the  'Squire  said  that  would  givn 
them  an  opportunity  to  go  to  the  work  with  a  full 
stomach  and  at  their  leisure. 

Accordingly,  at  one  o'clock  the  parties  began  to 
assemble  in  the  hall.  'Squire  Winslow,  who  believed 
that  a  pipe  after  dinner  was  a  good  settler  to  the 
stomach,  and  always  practised  accordingly,  came  in 
with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  his  spectacles  resting  »>n  the 
top  of  his  forehead,  and  taking  a  comfortable  position 


.M.  ii 


IQH'I    PBIAL.  IT 


in  his  chair,  placed  hk  feet,  where  ho  had  a  perfect 
rii^ht  to  place  them,  being  in  a  land  of  Liberty,  and 
in   his  own   house,   «]><>"    //«    ''>/'  </  ^  ^^.     The 
•  ncr,  who  had  been   found  asleep  in  his  chair  at 
his  own  dinner  table,  was  taken  away  suddenly,  like 
Cincinnaiiis  or  Putnam  from  the  plough,  and  brought 
into  court.  jwA  as  he  was,  in  his  shirt  sieves,  and 
placed  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  opposite  the  feet 
..f  Gamaliel.     Lawyer  Chandler,  who  was  always  on 
hand  to  help  the  'Squire  along  in  all  knotty  cases, 
appeared  with  book  in  hand  ready  to  lay  down  the 
law  and  testimony.     Lawyer  Stebbins  was  allowed 
bv  ilu-  courtesy  of  the  court  to  take  his  seat  by  the 
of  the  prisoner  to  see  that  he  had  fair  pi  ay  shown 
him.     I»ill    Cleaves,  the  constable,  to,,k   his  seat  a 
little  behind  the  'Squire,  crossed  his  legs,  and  fell  to 
smoking  a  cigar  with  groat  composure. 

'Squire  Window's  faithful  bull  dog,  Jowler,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  keep  order  in  the  house,  took  his 
watchful  station  under  the  table,  directly  under  his 
master's  fret,  ivady  for  any  emergency.  While  the 
constable's  do;:.  Trip,  who  had  done  his  part  in  run 
ning  down  the  game  ami  gottinir  it  housed,  felt  that 
his  duties  were  DV6T,  and  caring  but  little  for  the 
court  scene,  he  had  stretched  himself  upon  the  floor, 


18  'WAV     DOWN     KAST. 

and  was  as  sound  asleep  as  ever  John  Wadleigh  was 
in  church.  The  other  witnesses  and  spectators  pre 
sent  were  too  numerous  t<>  mention. 

The  indictment  was  read,  and  the  prisoner  called 
upon  to  answer,  who,  at  the  suggestion  of  Lawyer 
Stebbins,  replied,  "  Not  guilty ;"  at  which  Deacon 
'Squire  Winslow  shook  his  head,  and  remarked  in  a 
low  tone,  "  We  shall  see  about  that." 

The  first  point  made  by  Lawyer  Chandler,  was, 
that  the  prisoner  should,  prove  his  innocence  ;  and  he 
argued  the  point  with  much  force  and  eloquence.  It 
was  no  easy  matter  to  prove  that  a  man  was  actually 
asleep,  but  it  was  easy  enough  for  a  man  to  prove 
that  he  was  awake.  Therefore,  from  the  nature  of 
the  case,  the  burden  of  the  proof  ought  to  lay  upon 
the  prisoner.  "  "  Now,  we  charge  that  on  sundry  occa 
sions,  Wadleigh  was  asleep  in  church,  against  the 
laws  of  the  town  and  the  well-being  of  society. 
Now,  if  he  was  not  so  asleep,  let  him  prove  his  alibi. 
A  criminal  always  has  a  right  to  an  alibi  if  he  can 
prove  it.  May  it  please  your  honor.  I  take  that 
ground,"  said  Chandler,  "and  there  I  stick;  I  call 
upon  the  prisoner  to  prove  his  alibi" 

Lawyer  Stebbins  stoutly  contended  that  the  alibi 
could  not  apply  in  this  case.  lie.  had  never  heard 


JOHN        W   A  I.  I.  I    I«,   1!  '-        I    i:  I   A  I..  ID 

nor  read  of  its  heini:  u-ed  in  any  vpt  murder. 

And  the  wUdom  of  tin-  court  linally  overruled  that  it 
belonged  to  the  ]>ro<eeiitors  to  prove  the  sleep. 

"Well,  if  that  be  the  case,"  said  Chandler,  "I 
move,  your  honor,  that  Solomon  Young  be  sworn. 
I  had  no  idea  the  hurden  of  proof  was  going  to  lay 
on  us,  hut  still  I've  eOHM  prepared  for  it." 

Solomon  Vounir  was  sworn,  and  took  the  stand. 

Question  ~by  Chantll*  /'.  —  Do  you  know  that  John 
Wadleigh  sleeps  in  meeting? 

Witn&s.  —  I  guess  taint  no  secret;  I  don't  know 
anybody  but  what  d«>es  know  it. 

ChanJkr.—  AVell,  do  you  know   it?     That's   the 

question. 

Stebbins  objected  to  the  <jue^tion.  It  was  a  lead 
ing  <jiu->tion,  and  they  had  no  right  to  put  leading 

<pii'-ti«.ns  to  tlu'  witness. 

t'h<tn'!f.r.  —  Well,    then,    let   the    court    put    the 


-/    tiito     \\"m*lou).  —  What    do    you     know    ah«»nt 
John  Wadli-i^h's  sh-ej.in^  in  met-tin^  ' 

WltMts.  —  I  know  all  about    it;  taint   no  secret, 
I  iruess. 

-Thru    tell   in   all    about    it;   that's   just 
what  wo  want  to  know. 


'  U  A  V       Do  \V  .N       I :  A  S,  T  . 

Witness  (scratching  his  head).— AVell,  the  long 
and  short  of  it  is,  John  Wadleigh  is  a  hard  worken 
man.  That  is,  he  works  mighty  hard  doing  nothing ; 
and  that's  the  hardest  work  there  is  done.  It'll  make' 
a  feller  sleepy  quicker  than  poppy  leaves.  So  it 
stands  to  reason  that  Wadleigh  would  naterally  be  a 
very  sleepy  sort  of  a  person.  Well,  Parson  Moody's 
sarmons  are  sometimes  naterally  pretty  long,  and  the 
weather  is  sometimes  naterally  considerable  warm, 
and  the  sarmons  is  some  times  rather  heavv-like. 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  'Squire  Winslow,  "no  reflec 
tions  upon  Parson  Moody ;  that  is  not  what  you  were 
called  here  for." 

Witness. — I  don't  cast  no  reflections  on  Parson 
Moody.  I  was  only  telling  what  I  know  about  John 
Wadleigh's  sleeping  in  meeting;  and  it's  my  opinion, 
especially  in  warm  weather,  that  sarmons  that  are 
heavy-like  and  an  hour  long  naterally  have  a 
tendency — 

"  Stop,  stop,  I  say,"  said  'Squire  Winslow,  "  if  you 
repeat  any  of  these  reflections  on  Parson  Moody  again, 
I'll  commit  you  to  the  cage  for  contempt  of  conn." 

Witness. — I  don't  cast  no  reflections  on  Pars«>n 
Moody.  I  was  only  telling  what  1  knew  about  John 
Wadleigh's  sleeping  in  meeting. 


.1  ..II 


N     w  \  i>  :  '  -     1 1:  i  \  F.  .  :.'! 


H'/Ww.— Well,  go   <»ii,  and    toll    us  all 
about   that;  you  want  called  here  to  testify  about 

Parson  Moody. 

>c#*.— That's   what  I'm   trying  to  do,  it'    yon 

wouldn't  keep  1'iitling  me  out.     And  its  my  ..pinion 

in  warm  weather,  t<>!  -idorable  apt  to  sleep  in 

meeting;     especially    when     the    sannon— I     mean 

eially  when  I  I  pretty  tired.     I  know  I  find 

it  pretty  hard  work  t«>  get  hy  seventhly  and  eighthly 

in  the  sarnio'n  myself;  but  if  I  once  get  by  there,  I 

rally  get  into  a  kind  of  waking  train  again,  and 

make  out  to  weather  it.     But  it  isn't  so  with  AVad- 

h;  I've  gem-rally  noticed  if  he  begin*  to  gaj^e  at 

seventhly  and  eigh.hly.  its  a  gone  goose  with  him 

before  he  gets  through  tenthly,  and  he  ha*  to  l...ik  out 

for  another  prop  to  his  head  somewhere,  for  his  neck 

isn't  still'  enough  to  hold  it  up.      And  from  tenthly  up 

nthly  he'*  dead  as  a  door  nail;  till  the  Amen 

bring*  the  proph«   up  to  prayer*,  and   then  Wadl- 

Lei  up  with  a  jerk,  jest  like  opening  a  jack-knife. 

-.  cross-examining  the  witn--— .  Mr.  Young, 
how  do  you  know  tiiat  Wadleigh  is  asleep  on  these 
occasions  you  speak  of? 

W-'ness. — Cause  he  is;  everybody  say-  ]; 

—That   won'1    d.« :    we  d-.n't   want   v 


22 

toll  us  what   everybody  says.     You  must  tell  how 
YOU  know  he  is  asleep? 

H'/V/^A\v. — Well,  cause  he  begins  to  gape  at  sev 
enthly  and  eighthly,  and  props  his  head  up  at  tenthly, 
and  don't  stir  again  till  the  Amen. 

Stebbins. — Well  how  do  you  know  he  is  asleep  at 
that  time  ? 

Witness. — Cause  when  I  see  him  settle  down  in 
that  kind  of  way,  and  cover  his  face  up  so  I  can't  see 
his  eyes,  I  know  he's  asleep. 

Stebbins. — That's  no  proof  at  all;  the  witness  only 
knows  he  was  asleep  because  he  couldn't  see  his  eyes. 

Chandler. — Well,  this  witness  has  proved  that  the 
prisoner  exhibited  all  the  outward  signs  of  sleep ;  now 
I  will  introduce  one  to  show  that  he  also  exhibited 
internal  evidence  of  being  asleep.  Your  honor  must 
know  that  it  is  a  law  in  physics  and  metaphysics,  and 
the  universal  science  of  medicine,  that  being  deprived 
of  one  sense  sharpens  the  other  senses  in  a  most  won 
derful  degree.  Now  I  move  your  honor  that  my 
blind  friend  here  behind  me,  Jonathan  Staples,  be 
sworn. 

Jonathan  Staples  was  sworn  accordingly. 

Chandler. — Now,  Staples,  do  you  know  that  John 
Wadlcigh  sloops  in  meeting' 


ITADLKIOH'I    TIMAL. 


-Yes,  I  ilu. 
(  /«tn<lU'r.  —  Do  you  know  it? 

.  </<.,"'.  —  Yes,  I  kn<>\v  it. 
Squire  Winslow.  —  How  do  you  know  it? 
Staples.  —  Why,  don't  I  hear  him  sleep  every  Sab 
bath? 

Chandler.  —  What  is  the  state  of  your  hearing? 

,'lcs.  —  It  is  as  sharp  as  a  needle  with  two  pints. 
('//'///'//<r.  —  Can   you    always   tell    by    a    pei><>ii'- 
breathing.  whether  he  is  asleep  or  awake? 

M''j'lcs.  —  Jest  as  easy  as  I  can  tell  whether   I'm 
u-leep  or  awake  myself. 

('////////A/1.  —  Tell  us  where  you  sit  in  meeting,  ami 
how  you  know  Wadleigh  is  asleep. 

!>le*.  —  Well,  I  goes  to  meeting  of  a  Sabbath, 

and  (-Minim  »nly  takes  my  seat  in  the  seventh  -«-at   at 

the  west  end  of  the  meeting-house.     And  John  Wad- 

!i  he  sets  in  the  sixth  seat,  and  that  brings  him 

almn-t  right  at«»re  me.     All  the  first  part  of  the  t,-\er- 

\  he  has  a  waking  lnvath,  till   it   irets  almi^  into 

the  -arm.  .n,  say  about  seventhly  <>r  ei«rhthly,  and  then 

he  begins  to  have  a  sleepy  breath  ;  and  when  it  gets 

ali'iig  into  tenthly,  he  commonly  Lr«>es  it  like  a  j.orj.ii-. 

Squire  Winslow.  —  Do  you  know  him  to  be  asleep 

nt  these  times? 


. — I  guess  I  du ;  I  dont  see  how  I  could  help 
it.  I  know  him  to  be  asleep  jest  as  well  as  I  know 
I'm  awake. 

Squirt-  \Vhixlow. — AVell,  that's  sufficient,  mile- 
Mr.  Stebbins  wishes  to  ask  any  questions. 

Stebbim. — Now,  Staples,  do  you  pretend  to  say  that 
you  can  tell  John  Wadleiglfs  breath  from  the  breath 
of  any  other  person  in  meeting  ? 

Staples. — Sartainly  I  do.  Aint  everybody's  bivath 
pitched  on  a  different  key?  There's  as  much  ditli-r- 
ence  in  breathing  as  there  is  in  speaking. 

Chandler. — I'm  willing,  your  honor,  to  rest  the 
cause  here.  I  have  a  plenty  more  witnesses  as  good 
as  those,  but  I  consider  the  case  so  clearly  proved  that 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  bring  on  any  more  unless  my 
friend  Stebbins  should  offer  anything  on  the  other 
side  which  may  need  to  l>e  answered. 

Stebbins. — I  dont  consider  it  aec668fuy,  may  it  please 
your  honor,  for  me  to  say  a  single  word.  I  dont  con 
sider  that  there  has  been  the  lea>t  particle  of  evidence 
offered  here  yet,  to  prove  that  John  Wi'dleigh  ever 
>lept  a  wink  in  meeting  in  all  \\\^  lite.  And  urely 
your  honor  wont  convict  this  man  without  any  proof 
at  all  against  him.  Look  at  the  evidence,  -ir;  what 
does  it  amount  to?  One  man  n  him  lean  his 


.i  •»  ii  .\    VADLBIGH'«    j  K i AL. 

head,  and  anotlier  has  heard  him  breathe  ;  and  that 
is  tlu-  Mini  t<>tal.  \Yliy,  Mr,  if  you  convict  a  man  on 
Midi  evidence  as  this,  no  man  is  safe.  Every  man.  is 
liaMe  to  lean  his  head  ami  to  breathe  in  meeting. 

i  if  that  i-  to  be  considered  evidence  of  sleep,  1 
repeat,  who  is  safe  ?    No,  sir ;  as  I  said  before,  I  dont 

M'der  it  necessary  for  me  to  say  one  word  on  the 
subject,  for   there  has  1-  evidence  offered  to 

prove  tho  offence  charged. 

Here  Lawyer  Chandler  rose  with  lire  in  his  eyes 
and  thunder  on  hi-  t«'i: 

May  it  plea-i-  \«»ur  honor,  said  he.  I  am  astonished, 
I  am  amazed  at  the  hardihood  and  effrontery  of  my 
learned  friend,  the  counsel  on  the  opposite  side  of  this 
cause.  AVhy.  sir,  if  there  ever  was  a  case  made  out 
in  any  court  under  heaven,  by  dear,  positive,  and 
irresistible  evidence,  it  i-  this.  Sir,  I  s  vidence 

as  clear  as  sunshine  and  irresistible  as  thunder.  Yes, 
Ar,  M  lltecistiblt  as  thunder.  FiiM.  n'r,  an  nnim- 

•hable  witness  BW6ftn  to  y-.u,  that  he  sees  the  cul 
prit  Wadleiirh,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  irapini:  in  in. 

and  exhibiting   all  t!  of  going  to  sleej.  : 

then  he  BOeq  him  llattinir  away  and  muxxlinir  about  to 
iind  R prop fior  his h«acL  Now,  sir,  men  don't  want  a 
prop  tor  their  head-  when  they  are  awake.  It's  only 


26 

when  they  are  asleep  they  want  a  prop  for  their  heads, 
sir.  Well,  now  sir,  follow  the  prisoner  along  a  little 
further,  and  what  do  we  find,  sir?  Do  we  find  him 
wide  awake,  sir,  and  attending  to  the  services  as  a 
Christian  and  as  a  man  ought  to  do  ?  No,  sir.  We. 
find  him  from  tenthly  up  to  sixteenthly,  as  dead  as  a 
door  nail.  Them's  the  witnesses'  words,  sir,  as  dead 
as  a  door  nail.  What  next,  sir?  Why,  then  the  wit 
ness  swears  to  yon,  that  when  the  congregation  rise 
up  to  prayers,  Wadleigh  comes  up  with  a  jerk,  jest 
like  opening  a  jack-knife.  Them's  the  witnesses'  very 
words,  sir.  Now,  sir,  persons,  that's  awake  don't  get 
up  in  meeting  in  that  kind  of  style.  It's  only  them 
that's  waked  up  out  of  a  sudden  sleep,  that  comes  up 
with  a  jerk,  like  the  opening  of  a  jack-knife,  sir. 
What  stronger  proof  do  we  need,  or  rather  what 
stronger  proof  could  we  have,  of  all  the  outward  signs 
of  sleep,  than  we  have  from  this  witness  ?  With  regard 
to  the  internal  evidence  of  sleep,  another  witness 
swears  to  you  that  he  hears  Wadleigh  asleep  every 
Sabbath  ;  that  he  can  tell  when  a  person  is  asleep 
or  awake  by  his  breathing,  as  easily  as  he  can  tell 
whether  he's  asleep  or  awake  himself.  This  wit 
ness  swears  to  YOU  that  during  the  first  part  of  the 
exercises  Wadleigh  has  a  waking  breath,  and  when 


N    WADLBIGHI    i  K  i  \  i. .  j? 

the  minister  gets  along  to  seventhly  and  eighthly  he 

ins  to  have  a  very  sleepy  breath.      Well, -ir,  when 

the  mini>ter  gets  to  teuthly,  the  witness  swears  to  y<>u 

that  Wadh-igh  cmnmmih  likeaporpua.     Yes, 

sir,   so  sound   asleep,  that's  the  inference,  so  sound 

••p,  that  In*  goes  it  like  a  porpus. 

Sir,  [  will  not  say  another  word.  I  will  not  waste 
word-*  upon  a  ease  so  strong,  so  clear,  and  so  perfectly 
made  out.  If  this  evidence  doesn't  prove  the  culprit 
AVadh'igh  to  be  a  common  shvper  in  meetin  on  the 
I..-pr>  day.  then  there  is  no  dependence  to  be  placed 
in  human  testimony.  Sir,  I  have  done.  Whether 
this  man  i<  to  be  convicted  or  not,  I  clear  my  skirts  ; 
and  when  posterity  shall  see  the  account  of  this  trial, 
should  the  culprit  go  clear,  they  may  cry  out  "judg 
ment  has  tied  to  brutish  beasts  and  men  have  lost 
their  reason;"  l>ut  they  shall  not  say  Chandler  did 
ii"t  do  his  dutv. 

The  rtU'c-t  of  this  apeedb  on  the  court  and  audience 
was  tn-mendous.  It  was  some  minutes  before  aword 
was  Bpoken,  or  any  person  moved.  All  eves  still  seem 
ed  to  be  rivctted  upon  Squire  Chandler.  At  last 
Stjuiiv  Winslow 

rHiis  i>  a  very  ch-ar  ca>(\  -aid  he  ;  there  can  be  no 
question  of  the  prisoner's  guilt ;  and  he  is  sentenced 


28 

to  be  confined  in  the  cage  four  hours,  and  in  the  stocks 
one  hour.  Constable  Cleaves  will  take  chai-iiv  <>t'  the 
prisoner,  and  see  the  sentence  properly  executed. 


V  A  R 


CHAPTER  II. 


YANKKK 

The  autumnal  holiday  peculiar  to  New  England  is 

while  iu  the  middle  and  southern  States  the  great  d<.mr.-;' 
val  is  more  generally  at  Christmas  or  New  Year's.     Wln-thcr  the 
following  historical  sketch,  therefore,  applies  with  more  propriety 
to  Christmas  or  Thanksgiving,  must  depend  in  some  degree  upon 
the  latitude  in  which  Mr.  Solomon  Briggs  resides. 


Thursday  is  Christmas,"  said  Mrs.  I1, 
as  she  came  bustling  out  of  the  kitchen  into  the  lon^ 
dininir-riH.m.  and  took  her  scar  at  the  breakfast  table, 
win-re  her  hu>band,  Mr.  Solomon  ttriirgs,  and  all  the 
children,  hein^  ten   in   number,   were   B6I 
h.-r.      It'   Mr-.    Ilri^LT-  was   the   last  at   the   tal)le,   the 
circum-tauce   inu-t   not  be  set  down  as  an   i: 

•  T,  for  si:  rrinir  b«»dy, 

and    \va-     never     the    la-t    anywheiv,    with.-ut    p  ..  ,d 
can  :u    child!  tauirlit    t-» 

ihat  tli«-  "M  adage,  -tlie  eye  of  tin-  ma 
d"(-s    more    w«.rk    than     l><>th     his    hand-,"    ap]-!' 
c.jurdly  well   to  the  niistre^.      Acc«'rdiii^ly,  sliO  was 


iii  all  parts  of  the  house  at  once,  not  only  working 
with  her  own  hands,  but  overseeing  everything  that 
was  done  by  others.  Indeed,  now  that  we  have  said 
tli u-  much  in  favor  of  Mrs.  Briggs,  a  due  regard  t<> 
impartial  justice  requires  us  to  add,  that  Mr.  J'riggs 
himself,  though  a  very  quiet  sort  of  a  man,  and  not 
of  so  restless  and  mercurial  a  temperament  as  his 
will',  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  less  industrious. 
II  is  guiding  motto  through  life  had  been — 

"  He  that  by  the  plough  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive." 

Ajid  most  literally  had  he  been  governed  by  the 
precept,  lie  was,  in  short,  an  industrious,  thriving 
New  England  farmer.  His  exact  location  it  is  not 
our  purpose  here  to  disclose.  AVe  give  our  fair 
readers,  and  unfair,  if  we  have  any,  the  whole  range 
of  New  England,  from  the  shore  of  Connecticut  to 
the  (iredi  Mountains,  and  from  Mount  Hope  to 
Moosehead  Lake,  to  trace  him  out.  But  we  shall 
not  point  to  the  spot,  lest  Mr.  Solomon  Briggs,  seeing 
his  own  likeness  brought  home  to  his  own  door, 
might  think  us  impertinent  for  meddling  with  family 
ailairs. 

To  go  back   to  our  starting  point — Mrs.  Brig--, 
who  had  stopped  in  the  kitchen  till  the  last  moment, 


.    \  N  K  1 .  !       •    !  I  K  I  8  T  M  A  8  .  31 

in  order  t«>  see  the  last  dish   properly  pivparv. ! 
hivakta-t,  came  herself  at  last  to  tin-  table. 

••  N« -\;  Thursday  is  Christmas,"  said  she,  uand 
iintliin^  done  yet  to  prepare  for  it.  I  do  wi>h  we 
could  over  have  things  in  any  sort  of  season." 

At  the  mention  of  Christmas  the  children's  eyes 
all    brightened,   from   James,    the    eldest,   who    1 
twenty-one,  down  to  Mary,  who  was  but  two  yi 
old,  and  who,  of  course,  knew  nothing  about  Chri.-:- 
mas,  but  looked  smiling  and  bright  because  all  the 
did 

Mr.   Briggs,   however,   who    considered    the    la>! 
remark    as    having   a  little    bearing    upon    liiii: 
replied — k'That  be  >h«»uld  think  three  days  wa<  time 

:irh  to  get  a  Christmas  dinner  or  a  Christ: 
supper  «ro<»d  enough  for  any  common  sort  of  folks." 

"I-    would   be   time   enough   to  ge!    it,"   -aid    Mr-. 
••it'  we  bad  anything  to  get  it  with;  but  we 
haven't  a  mite  of  flour  in  the  house,  nor  no  meat  for 
the  miner  pie-,  and  there  aint  no  poultry  kilkd 
neith 

u  \\Y11,  well,  m-.ther,"  said  Mr.  Briggs,  very  mod 
erately,  and  with  a  half  smile,  "just  be  patient  ft 
little,  and  v.-n  >hall  have  as  much  Christinas  a-  \..u 
want.  There's  a  bushel  u{as  good  wheat  as  ever  was 


W  A  V       IX)  W  X       B  A  fi   1 


ground,  I  put  into  a  bag  on  Saturday;  James  can 

take  a  horse  and  carry  it  to  mill  this  morning  and 

m  •* 

in  two  hours  you  may  have  a  bushel  of  good  Hour. 

You've  got  Imtter  enough  and  lard  enough  in  the 
house,  and  if  you  want  any  plums  or  raisins,  or  any 
such  sort  of  things,  James  may  call  at  IlaskaH's 
store,  as  he  conies  home  from  mill,  and  get  what 
you  want.  Then  Mr.  Buttertield  is  going  to  kill  a 
beef  critter  this  morning,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a 
quarter,  so  that  before  noon  you  can  have  a  hundred 
weight  of  beef  to  make  your  mince  pies  of,  and  if 
that  aint  enough,  I'll  send  to  Mr.  J'utteriield's  for 
another  quarter.  And  then  there  is  live  heaping 
cart  loads  of  largo  yellow  punkins  in  the  barn,  and 
there  is  h've  cows  that  give  a  good  mess  of  milk; 
and  you've  got  spices  and  ginger,  and  mola<si«s,  and 
sugar  enough  in  the  house,  so  I  don't  see  as  there 
need  be  any  diiliculty  but  what  we  might  have 
punkin  pies  enough  for  all  hands.  And  as  for  the 
poultry,  it'll  be  time  enough  to  kill  that  to-morrow 
morning;  and  it'  two  turkeys  aint  enough,  I'll  kill 
four,  besides  a  bushel  basket  full  of  chickens.  So 
now  go  on  with  your  birdfl'-egging,  and  make  your 
Christmas  OS  fast  as  you  please,  and  as  much  of  il." 
When  this  >peech  was  ended,  the  children  chipped 


YA  «'  l!  i:  l  s  i  M  .VS.  33 

their  hands  and  laughed,  and  said,  ".fetter  fear 
father— he  always  1,:  ut  right  i 

From  that  hour  forth,  f>r  three  days,  there  was 
unusual  hurry  and  hustle  through- >ut  tin-  house  of 
Solomon  Briggs.  In  tlie  kitchen  particularly  there 

•  and  gred  <-"!nni«.ti.»n.  The  oven  was 
Imt  tVtun  morning  till  night,  and  almost  from  night 
till  moniing.  Thnv  wa<  haking  <>t'  pound  cake,  and 
jilum  cako,  and  sp-  .  .;nl  Christmas  cake, 

and    Xr\v    Year's    cake,   :IM  1    all    sorts   ol  that 

could    he    found    in    the    cook    book.      Then     there 

full   of  mint-  :ind  apple  pics,   and 

custard    ]>;«•-.   and    all    -«>rts    of  pl6&       Hie 
display  of  pies,  h»\v  -   of  ihe    pumpkin   tribe, 

.kin  pie-"  •  platters  for 

Chr  .;nd     other-    on    large    plate-    for 

brc:ik fa-t  and  Mippcr  a  niontli  afterward-:  and  ot: 
still,  in  »-ach  of  the  -mall   children.      In 

the   next   place,  there  was  a  pair  of  plum   puddi: 
baked   in   tl.  :    sized   earthen   pots,  ami    Indian 

pudding-  and  custard  puddings  to  match.  And  then 
the  roastingl  that  were  shown  up  on  the  morning  of 
Chri-:in:.  \eellent  keeping  with  the  rest  of 

the  preparation-.      1!.  -idi-s  a   liiu-  sirloin  of  beef,  two 

fat    turkeys   wer  86M,    and    a    half   a 

2* 


34  '  W  A  Y      I)  O  W  N      E  A  B  T  . 

dozen  chickens.  And  then  another  half  dozen  of 
chickens  were  made  into  an  enormous  chicken  pie, 
and  baked  in  a  milk  pan. 

A  query  may  arise,  perhaps,  in  the  mind  of  the 
iv:ider,   why  such  a  profusion   of   food    should   he 
cooked  up   at  once  for  a  single  family,  and   that 
family,  too,  not  unreasonably  large,  though  respectable 
in  number,  for  it  did  not  count  over  sixteen,  includ 
ing  domestics,  hired  help  and  all.     This  is   a  very 
natural  error  for  the  reader  to  fall  into,  but  it  is  an 
error  nevertheless.     This  array  of  food  was  not  pre 
pared  for  a    single    family;    but    for   a    numerous 
company,  to  be  made  up  from  many  families  in  the 
neighborhood.     The  truth  was,  Mr.  Briggs  was  well 
to  do  in  the  world,  a  circumstance  owing  to  his  Luiu; 
course  of  patient  industry  and  economical  habits. 
Several  of  his  children  were  now  nearly  men  and 
women  grown,  full  of  life  and  fond  of  fun,  as  most 
young  folks  are.     Mrs.  Briggs  also  was  very  fond  of 
society,  and  a  little  vain  of  her  smart  family  of  chil 
dren,  as  well  as  of  her  good  cooking.     From  these 
}» remises,  a  gathering  of  several  of  the  neighbors  at 
Mr.  Briggs's  house,  to  eat  a  Christinas  dinner,  and  a 
still  larger  company  of  young  folks  towards  niglit,  to 
j-pend   a   Christmas   evening  would    t>"f   be   a  very 


YANKEE     CHBIBTMAB.  35 

unnatural  <•  ice.     Such  was  the  consequence, 

as  we  shall  piv.-ently  see. 

We  shall  not  stop  to  give  a  particular  account  of 
the  dinner,  a--  that  \\  as  a  transaction  performed  in  the 
daytime,  openly  and  above-board,  and  could  be  seen 
and  understood  by  everybody;  but  the  evening 
company,  and  the  supper,  and  the  frolic,  as  they 
were  hid  from  the  world  by  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
need  more  elucidation.  We  must  not  dismiss  the 
dinner,  however,  without  remarking  that  it  fulllilled 
e\ery  expectation,  and  gave  entire  satisfaction  to  all 
parties.  A  table  of  extra  length  was  spread  in  the 
long  dining  hall,  which  was  graced  by  a  goodly  circle 
of  elderly  people,  besides  many  of  the  middle-aged 
and  die  young.  And  when  we  state  that  the  loin  of 
beef  was  reduced  to  a  skeleton ;  that  two  turkeys,  one 
goose,  and  live  chickens,  vanished  in  the  twinkling  of 
a  ca.M--knife;  that  the  large  milk  pan,  containing  the 
chicken-]. ir.  was  explored  and  cleared  to  the  very 
bottom;  and  that  three  or  four  large  puddings  and  a 
c«>iiple  of  acres  of  "punkin  pio"wero  among  the 
things  lost  in  the  dessert,  we  think  it  lias  been  suffi 
ciently  shown  that  due  respect  was  paid  to  Mrs. 
r.ritrir-'s  dinner,  and  that  her  culinary  skill  should  not 
bo  called  in  que>ti<m. 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


"Now,  James,  who's  coming  here  to-night?"  said 
Susan,  the  eldest  daughter,  a  bright,  blue-eyed 
girl  of  eighteen.  "Who  have  you  asked?  Jest 
name  'em  over,  will  you?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  name  'em  over,"  said  James;  "jest 
wait  an  hour  or  two  and  you'll  see  for  yourself.  I've 
asked  pretty  much  all  the  young  folks  within  a  mile 
or  two  ;  as  much  as  twenty  of  'em  I  guess." 

••  A  Veil,  1m  e  you  asked  Betsy  II  arlow  T  said  Susan. 
"Yes,  and  Ivory  too,  if  that's  what  you  want  t<> 
know,"  said  James. 

"Nobody  said  anything  about  Ivory,"  said  Susan, 
as  the  color  came  to  her  cheek,  and  she  tun  KM!  to  go 
out  of  the  room. 

"Here,  Suky,  comeback  here,"  said  James,  "Fro 
got  something  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Susan,  turning  round  at  the 
door,  and  waiting. 

"They  say  Ivory  is  waiting  <>n  Harriet  Gibbs; 
what  do  you  think  of  that?"  said  James. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Susan,  coloring 
still  more  deeply. 

"  Well,  Harriet    will    be    here    this   evi-nin-r,"  said 

James  "and  then  may  be  y.»u  can  judge  for  yourself." 

"Is  her  brother  coming  with  her*"  said 


Y  AN  K  i:  i:     »•  in:  i  sTMAB.  37 

"George  is  coming."  <;lid  'Tamos,  "hut  whether 
>he  will  come  with  him,  or  with  Ivory  Jlarl.-w, 
remains  to  be  seen." 

That  Christinas  was  rather  a  cold  day,  and  as  night 
approached,  it  grew  still  colder. 

••  Pile  mi  OHM  wood,"  said  Mr.  Hrigg^  '\iM  your 
rooms  warm,  so  there  shan't  be  no  >hiverin'  or 
huddling  about  the  fire  this  evening." 

The  boys  wore  never  more  ready  to  start  promptly 

eir  lather's  bidding  than  they  were  on  this  OC 

•:.     Tlie   large  fire-place   in  the  long  dining-room 

wa-  piled  full  «.f  round  sticks  <>f  heavy  wood  almost 

up  to  tl  1 ;  and  the  fires  in  ti  room" 

and  in  the  end  room  wen-  renewed  with  e-|iial  hounty. 

IK  ,  .idle-li.irht,  the  eoinpany  begU   to  dr,,j,  in 

one   ath-r  another,  and  by  twos  and   threes   in  pretty 

frequent  succeoion.     There  were  st«.ut  boys  in  round 

jacket-,   tad  :•    bojl   in    lon_ir-tailed   OOAlB,   a:.d 

ro^\  !     Lrirl-     in     -hawls     and     blankets,    and 

efato,  and  id  tipiK-ts.     Some  of  the  middh- 

•  1   and   elderly  people   who  had    remained   to  pass 

the  evening,  sat  in  the  'More    mom*'   with   Mr.   and 

Mrs.  r.ri.ir-s  while  the  young  folks  were  huddled 

the  end  room,  till  the  supper  table  should  be  spread 

in  tlu-  l«.ug  dining-hall. 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"There's  Ivory  Harlow's  bells,"  said  James,  as  a 
sleigh  came  with  a  merry  gingle  up  to  the  door ;  and 
instantly  the  windows  were  crowded  with  heads  look 
ing  out  to  see  who  had  come  with  him.  Ivory  lived 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant  and  was  the  only  one 
who  came  with  a  sleigh  that  evening,  as  most  of  the 
others  lived  considerably  nearer. 

"  Why,  there's  four  of  'em,  as  true  as  I  live,"  said 
Susan,  as  they  crossed  the  stream  of  candle  light, 
that  poured  from  the  windows  and  spread  across  the 
door  yard.  One  of  the  younger  boys  had  already 
opened  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  new 
comers  were  ushered  into  the  room,  viz :  Ivory  Ilar- 
Inw  and  his  sister  Betsy,  and  Harriet  Gibbs,  and  a 
strange  gentleman,  whom  Ivory  introduced  to  the 
company  as  Mr.  Stephen  Long,  the  gentleman  who 
was  engaged  to  keep  the  district  school  that  winter. 
And  then  he  turned  and  whispered  to  James,  and 
t<»ld  him  that  the  master  had  arrived  at  their  house 
that  afternoon,  as  he  was  to  be^in  the  school  the  next 
day,  HO  he  thought  he  would  briii<j:  him  with  him. 

"That's  jest  right,"  said  James,  "I'm  glad  you 
did  ;"  though  at  the  same  time  his  heart  belied  his 
words,  for  he  felt  afraid  it  would  spoil  half  the  fun  of 
the  evening.  The  boys  and  girls  all  at  once  put  on 


YANK]    I!     .    II  KI8TMA8.  39 

long  and  sober  faces,  and  sat  and  stood  round  the 
room  as  quiet  as  though  they  h*d  been  at  a  funeral. 
l're>ently  Susan  whi-pered  to  .lames  and  told  him  he 
ought  t«>  take  the  ma-ter  into  the  "fore  room,"  and 
introduce  liim  to  father  and  mother  and  the  rest  of 
the  folks.  "And  I'd  leave  him  there,  if  I  was  you," 

added    in    a   very  suppressed   whisper,  lest   she 
should  he  overheard. 

dames  at  once  followed  the  suggestion  of  Susan, 
and  to,.k  Mr.  Stephen  LI  nig  into  the  other  room  and 
introduced  him  to  Mr.  and  M:--.  Di'-'irs  and  the  rest 
•  •!'  tlie  company,  and  a  chair  was  of  course  set  for 
Mr.  Long,  and  he  of  course  sat  down  in  it  and  began 
1-.  talk  about  the  weather  and  other  subjects  of  like 
intere-t.  while  .lames  retreated  back  into  the  end 
room.  The  moment  the  master  had  left  the  room  the 
bo\-  and  girls  all  began  to  breathe  moiv  freely,  ami 
to  bustle  about,  and  talk  and  laugh  as  merry  aa 
crickets.  Not  a  tew  ivirn-ts  were  thrown  out  from 

and   another,  that   the    school-master   had    I- 
brought   there  to  spend    the   evening,   and  some  of 

•* 

them  thought  "Ive  Harl«»w  ought   to  a-kn«'\vn   hrth-r, 
f..r  lie   might   know   it    would  spoil   half  their 
T.iit   it  seems   they  had  not    rightly  estimated    Mr. 
Strplu-n    Long'i  social  and    youthful   qualities,  who. 


40 

although  two  or  three  and  twenty  years  old,  was 
almost  as  much  of  a  boy  as  any  in  the  room.  lie 
had  not  been  gone  more  than  fifteen  minutes  before 
he  came  back  into  the  room  with  the  young  folks 
again,  much  to  the  dismay  of  the  whole  company. 

A  cloud  immediately  settled  upon  their  faces;  all 
were  whist  as  mice,  and  sober  as  deacons,  till  Mr. 
Stephen  Long  came  across  the  room  with  an  (exceed 
ingly  droll  expression  of  merriment  upon  his  face, 
and  gave  Janus  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back,  saying  at 
the  same  time : 

"Well,  now,  what's  the  order  of  the  day  here 
to-night?  Dance,  or  forfeits  or  Mind  man's  bluff? 
Tin  for  improving  the  time." 

At  once  the  whole  company  burst  out  into  a  loud 
laugh,  and  several  of  the  juniors,  feeling  such  a  burden 
suddenly  removed  from  them,  fell  to  pounding  each 
other's  shonld'-r-,  probably  to  prevent  them  in  their 
lightnes<  from  flying  of  the  handle. 

"I  «j-  -"inc'thing  or  other  a  going  bime 

by,"  said  James  ;  "  whatever  the  com] .any  likes  best ; 
but  I  guess  we'll  have  supper  iirst,  for  that's  about 
dy." 

The  words  were  but  just  uttered  when  the  call  for 
Cupper  was  given,  and  the  fOT6-TOOin,  and  the  end- 


Y  A  N  K  I '  I       <    1 1  U  I  S  T  M  A  8  .  II 

:i    ]H>uiv<l    out    their    respective    companies    into 
tlu-  loni:  dining-halL    It  was  soon  perceived  that,  i 
as  tin-  table  was,  they  could  not  all  be  seated  at  once, 
and  there  began  va-inic  '  -line 

who  should  wait.      The  elderly  people  must  of  conr.-e 
sit    .  -chool-master  must  of  course  sit 

at   the   :ir.-t  table,  and   then   it   was  decided  that  the 
ymmged    of    the    youn^   f,,lks   should   sit    down 

because  the  eldest  of  the  young  fd  -to  wait  and 

by  then  .     To   this  last  arrangement   t! 

Harriet  (iibbs,  when  she 

the  scl l-ma<tr:  on  one  side  of  the  table, 

had  somehow  <»r  other,  rtently  of  course,  taken  a 

-•ctly  opposite  to  him.     And 

when,  as  th<  folks  were  rctiriiiL:  fnnn  the  room, 

j  Harlot  lo,,ked  at  her  and  saw  she  had  con 
cluded  to  remain,  Susan  thought  she  saw  considerable 
color  come  into  Ivory'-  t.. 

When  the  lir-t  conij.any  at  the  table  had  eaten  up 
two  rows  of  pief  rh-ar  round  the  board,  including 
mince,  jippl-  1,  and  "jmnkin  pies,"  of 

.   together  with   a   n  •'ion  of 

various  kind  61  and  sweetm«-at<,  and  had  Lrivcn 

]>lace  to  tlio  [.any  at   the   table,  who  had 

6  through  similar  op. 


the  great  diiiing-hall  was  speedily  cleared  of  di>hes 
and  chairs,  and  tables,  and  all  such  sorts  of  trumpery, 
that  there  might  be  nothing  to  impede  the  real  busi 
ness  of  the  evening. 

The  elderly  people  were  again  seated  in  the  f« 're- 
room,  where  a  brisk  tire  was  bla/ing  so  warmly  \ 
they  could  sit  back  comfortably  clear  to  the  walls ;  and 
around  the  hearth  was  a  goodly  array  of  mugs  and 
pitchers  of  cider,  and  bowls  heaped  with  mellow 
apples,  red  and  yellow  and  green. 

"  Now,  then,  what  shall  we  have  to  begin  with  .'" 
said  James. 

"  Blind  man's  buff,"  said  George  Gibbs. 

"Suppose  we  have  a  quiet  dance  to  begin  with  (" 
said  Susan. 

"  Oh,  I'd  rather  have  something  that  has  more  life 
in  it,"  said  Harriet  Gibbs  ;  "  let's  have  '  hunt  the  slip 
per,'  or  'forfeits,'  I  don't  care  which. 

"  Oh  get  away  with  them  small  potatoes,"  said  P.ill 
Dingley;  "let's  go  right  into  blind  man's  buff  at 
once  ;  that's  the  stuff  for  Christmas." 

"  You  know  we  must  please  the  ladies,  Bill,"  said 
Janus  nriLTirs,  "  I  guess  we'll  have  a  sort  of  gam 
forfeits  iii>t,  as  Miss  Gibbs  proposed  it." 

"  \\V11,  agreed,"  said  all  hands. 


V  AN  K  E  K      C  11  K  I  ST  M  A.8.  -l-'J 

Accordingly  the  company  arranged  them-elve-  in  a 
circle  round  the  larije  hall,  liddinir  tin-  palm-  of  their 
hand-  together,  and  •  took  a  piece  of  money 

between  hia  hande  and  paned  round  t..  ra<-h  one 

the  c-'inj>any,  ami  made  the  motion  to  drop  the  nioiu-y 
into  the  hands  of  t-ach. 

"Button,  button,  who's  got  the  button?"  said  James 
to  tlic  liead  one,  when  lie  had  been  round  the  eirele. 

t%  Harriet  (iibbs,"  was  the  reply. 

"Button,  button,  who's  irot  the  button?"  said  Janir> 
t"  the  iu-.\t. 

"Betsey  Ilarlow,"  answered  the  next. 

At  last,  when  Janus  had  been  clear  round  the  circle 
and  questioned  each  one  in  like  manner,  he  called  «-ut, 

"Them  that's  irot  it,  rise." 

At  once  up  Imppi-d  Sam  Nelson,  a  sly  little  ivd- 
headcd  fellow  about  a  do/en  years  ..Id,  whom  no  «,ne 
Mi-pe<-ted  of  having  it,  and  of  course  no  one  had 

— ed  him.     Every  one  of  the  company,  th< 
had  to  pay  a  fort. 

"I  mov.  deem,  before  we  go  any  further." 

ry  Ilarlow. 

moti. .11  '  -ided  all  round,  and  the  forfeits 

were  accordingly  collected,   and   James  g  a 

(•"iiple,  held  them  over  Harriet  (iibb>'s  head. 


44  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"Whose  two  pawns  an' these?"  said  he,  "and  what 
si i all  he  and  she  do  to  redeem  tin- in  r" 

"Tlu'  lady  shall  kiss  the  schoolmaster,"  said  Har 
riet,  u  and  the  gentleman  shall  go  into  the  fore-room 
and  kiss  Mrs.  'Hriggs. 

"  Mi<s  Harriet  Gibbs  and  Mr.  Ivory  Ilarlow  go  and 
do  it,"  said  James. 

"  Oh,  la  me !  I  shant  do  no  sich  thing,"  said  Harriet 
with  a  half  scream. 

"  Tlien  you  don't  have  your  ring  again,"  said  James. 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  I  must  do  it,  or  I  shall  be 
petting  a  bad  example  to  the  rest,"  said  Harriet.  And 
away  she  run  across  the  room  to  Mr.  Srephen  Long, 
and  at  once  gave  the  whole  company  audible  evidence' 
that  she  had  fully  redeemed  her  ring. 

Ivory  lEarlow  walked  leisurely  into  the  f<nv-rooin. 
What  he-  did  there  tlie  young  people  could  not  certainly 
say,  but  from  the  hearty  laugh  that  came  from  the 
elderly  people  there  assembled,  they  inferred  that  he 
did  something*  and  on  his  return  James  gave  him 
up  his  pawn. 

James  then  selected  two  more  of  the  forfeits,  an d 
held  them  over  Hill  Dingley's  head. 

"Whose  two  pawns  are  these,  a:id  what  shall  he 
and  sho  do  to  redeem  them  C '  said  .James. 


YANKEE     CHRISTMAS.  45 

Mjy  shall  ;i  other  throu<rh  a  chair  hark," 

said  Hill. 

"Miss  Susan  Bri^ir-  ami  Mr.  Stephen  L<>IILC  have 
got  to  do  it,"  ^i> '1  •' aines. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Su-pheii  L'-n^  rea< lily  took  a  chair 
and  approached  Miss  Susan  Briggs.  But  Miss  Susan, 
when  she  saw  the  school-ma>ter  coming  towanU  her, 
holding  a  chair  up  t«>  his  tmv,  ami  his  lips  poking 
thrmigli  the  back  of  it,  colored  up  to  the  eves  ami 
turned  awav. 

••  1  >"  it,  d.->  it  !"  cried  half  the  company,  "or  you 
shan't  have  y.»ur  hankerchiet'/' 

Mr.  Stephen  Long  seemed  heiitup'.n  redeeming  his 
pawn  at  any  rate,  and  he  followed  Miss  Susan  with 
tlu-  chair  with  an  earn£ftD60i  that  >hi»wed  he  did  not 
ini-an  t"  he  halHi-il.  When  Mi—  Siism  f.»mid  hei*self 
cornered,  and  could  retreat  no  further,  she  kissed  her 
hand  and  tossed  it  at  the  chair. 

"That  wont  do,"  cried  halt'  a  dozen  voices. 

"  I  had  to  redeem  mini-,"  said  Harriet  (iihhs,  "and 
it's  no  more  than  fair  that  she  >hould  redeem  h 

"Well,  you  may  redeem  mine  too,  if  you  are  a 
mind  to,"  said  Susan,  pushing  the  chair  fr«.m  her 
with  her  hand. 

When   Mr.    Stephen    Long    found    he   could    not 


46 

redeem  his  pawn  through  the  chair,  lie  declared  he 
would  redeem  it  without  the  chair.  So  setting  the 
chair  down,  he  commenced  a  fresh  attack  upon  Miss 
Susan,  who  held  both  hands  tightly  over  her  face. 
After  some  violence,  however,  the  company  heard 
the  appropriate  signal  of  triumph,  but  whether  the 
victory  had  been  achieved  upon  cheek  or  hand, 
always  remained  matter  of  doubt. 

In  redeeming  the  rest  of  the  pawns,  the  penalties 
were  as  various  as  the  characters  of  the  several  per 
sons  who  stood  judges.  One  had  to  measure  half  a 
dozen  yards  of  love  ribbon.  One  had  to  hop  across 
the  room  on  one  foot  backwards.  Another  had  t<» 
kneel  to  the  prettiest,  bow  to  the  wittiest,  and  1 
the  one  he  loved  best.  But  when  Bill  Dingley  stood 
as  judge,  he  declared  he  wasn't  in  favor  of  any  half 
way  punishments,  and  he  accordingly  adjudged  the 
delinquents  to  kiss  every  lady  and  gentleman  in  the 
room  ;  that  is,  the  lady  to  kiss  the  gentlemen,  and  the 
irentleman  to  kiss  the  ladies,  which  penalties  the 
aforesaid  delinquents  performed  according  to  the  best 
of  their  abilities. 

AVhen  the  game  of  pawns  was  over,  the  general 
vote  seemed  to  be  in  favor  of  blind  inar/s  buif. 
James  h:u'  t«  blind  first,  and  he  whirled  about  the 


YANKEE      <:il  KI.-TM  AS.  IV 


room,  ami  llew  from  side  to  side,  and  corner 
with  a>  much  e;L-e  ami  h«>ldner«s  as  though  he  had 
nothing  over  his  eves  ;  ami  he  kept  the  company 
continually  living  from  one  eml  of  tlie  hall  to  the 
olher,  like  a  Hock  of  frightened  pigeons.  He,  Imw- 
r,  kille^l  them  oft*  pretty  fast,  by  catching  one 
after  another,  and  sending  tln-iu  into  tlie  en<l  room. 
While  they  were  ninnini:  for  their  lives,  thi-  way  ami 
that,  Ivory  Harlow  couhhrt  help  noticing  that,  si»ine- 
how  or  other,  Harriet  (iihhs  most  always  blundered 
info  the  same  corner  where  the  school-master  was; 
and  sometimes  she  wotdd  run  ri^ht  against  him 
U-fnreshe  saw  him  ;  and  then  sometimes  -he  would 
almost  fall  down,  and  the  school-master  would  have  to 
catch  hold  ..f  her  to  keep  her  from  falling.  M 
than  OD06  that  evening,  Iv«»ry  wi-hcd  he  had  not 
l.roiiirht  her,  and  more  than  twice  ho  wished  Siusan 

j--  illicit  t'oi-LT'-t  that  he  did  hrin^  her. 
frhe  lu-i-k  runninir  and  hustle  at  blind  man's  biiff 
drew  the  elderly  people  to  the  door  <.f  the  fore   ro-.m, 
when-  they  >t«»,.d   and  looked  <»n.      \Vheii   .lami-s  had 

lit  about  half  the  company,  Mrs.  I.ri^.ir^  c«'uld 
not  stand  it  any  l'inir«-r.  She  .-lipj.ed  otf  lu-r  shoes, 
and  in  -he  went  riirht  amon^  them,  and  joined  in  the 
;  and  she  ran  about  lighter  and  <piicker  than 


48 

any  girl  there.  So  much  upon  the  alert  was  she,  and 
moved  about  with  such  noiseless  and  nimble  foot 
steps,  that  she  was  in  fact  the  very  last  to  be  taken. 
And  when  at  last  she  was  cornered  and  caught, 
,1  ames  was  a  little  puzzled  to  know  who  it  was,  for 
he  felt  almost  sure  he  had  caught  all  the  large  girls. 
But  when  he  put  his  hand  upon  her  head,  and  lace, 
and  neck,  and  shoulders,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Well  done,  mother  ;  this  is  you.  Now  you  shall 
blind." 

"  Oh,  no,  1  can't  do  that,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs, 
retreating  toward  the  fore-room. 

*  Yes,  but  you  must,"  said  James,  "you  are  the 
last  caught." 

"  Yes,  yes  yon  must,  you  must,"  echoed  the  young 
folks  from  all  sides. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs  at  last,  "  if  Mr.  Brigg> 
and  the  iv>t  of  Ym  will  come  out  and  run,  I'll  blind." 

The  elderly  people  stood  and  looked  at  each  other 
a  minute,  and  at  last  they  haw  hawed  right  out,  and 
tlu-n  half  a  dozen  of  them  came  out  upon  the  floor  to 
join  the  game.  The  handkerchief  was  put  upon  Mrs. 
Briggs's  eyes,  and  the  old  folks  commenced  running, 
and  the  old  folks  stepped  heavy,  and  the  young  folks 
laughed  loud,  and  there  was  a  most  decided  racket. 


Y  AN  KK  K      r  H  i:  I  .->  T  M  AS.  •!'.» 

Mr>.  I'.riirir5.  however,  soon  cleared  die  coast,  for  she 
a>  a  cat.  and  caught  her  prey  as  fast  as  that 
ii^-ful  animal  would  do  when  shut  up  in  a  room  with 
a  flock  of  mice. 

When  this  run  was  over,  the  play  went  back  again 
,i>ively  into  tlu-  hands  of  the  young  folks,  and  af 
ter  -everal  i »f  them  had  he-en  Minded,  it  came  at  last 
to  I'.ill  Dingley's  turn.  Hill  wi-nt  into  it  like  a  day's 
\v«»rk.  Hi-  K-aj-rd  u]»on  his  pivy  like  a  tiger  among 
p.  Ho  ran  ovi-r  <>ne,  and  trij>ped  uj>  another, 
knock, -d  one  this  way  and  another  that,  and  caught 
Him-  «>r  t«.ur  in  his  arms  at  once.  He  made  very  quick 
work  of  it,  and  caiiirht  them  all  off,  l>ut  W!KMI  he  got 
tliroiiLrh,  two  «.r  three  were  rnhhing  the  bruises  on 
their  heads,  and  one  was  bleeding  at  the  nose.  This 
wound  up  the  Mind  man'.-  huff. 

M1  .  Rrigge  then  came  out  and  told  Susan  to  get  a 
tahle  out  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  She  then 
brmiirht  forward  a  coiipli-  of  nice*  little  loaves  of 
Chri-tma-  cake,  and  placed  them  on  a  c.,uj>le  of  plates, 
and  cut  them  up  into  as  many  slices  as  there  were 
young  folk-  piv^cnt.  men  and  women  grown. 

M  Now,?  said  Mrs.  r.riirir-.  %*  wr'll  186  which  of  you 
is  going  to  l,r  married  first.  These  two  cakes  have 
each  of  'em  a  Christmas  ring  in  tin -m  :  and  which- 


50 

r  gets  the  slice  that  lias  the  ring  in  it,  will  IK-  mar 
ried  before  the  year  ifl  out.    So  all  tin-  gals  aver  ail 
teen  years  old  stand  up  in  a  row  on  one  side,  and  all 
the    voung   men  over  eighteen  stand  up  in  a  row  on 
the  other  side,  and  I'll  pass  the  cake  round/' 

She  carried  it  round  to  the  young  men  first,  and 
each  took  a  slice  and  commenced  eating  to  ascertain 
who  had  the  ring. 

"  By  jings,  I  haven't  got  it,"  said  Billy  Dingley, 
swallowing  his  cake  at  three  mouthfuls. 

"  May  be  you've  swallowed  it,"  said  George  Gibbs. 

"Well,  them  that's  got  it,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs, 
" please  to  keep  quiet  till  we  find  out  which  of  the 
gals  has  the  other." 

She  then  passed  the  cake  round  to  the  young  ladies. 
AVhen  she  came  to  Susan,  Harriet  Gibbs,  who  was 
standing  by  her  side,  said: 

"It's  no  use  for  any  of  the  rest  of  us  to  try,  for 
Su<an  knows  which  slice  'tis  in,  and  she'll  get  it." 

"  No,  that  isn't  fair,"  said  Mrs.  Briggs  ;  "  I  pnt  the 
rings  in  myself,  and  nobody  else  knows  anything 
about  it" 

The  young  ladies  then  took  their  slices,  and  Mrs. 
Briggs  passed  on  to  Sally  Dingley,  Bill's  sister,  who 
being  on  the  wrong  side  of  forty,  did  not  stand  in  the 


v  A  N  K  K  K    < •  in;  i  -  i  M  \     .  :>1 

m\v,  aii'l  ratlin-  •'.  ?akiiiLr  tin-  cake.     M:--.  !!• 

urp'd  her,  and   t"ld   her  she  must   take  some  ;   when 
Hill  -uddenly  called  mit  : 

"Take  lmld.  Sal,  take  Imld  and  try  your  luck;  as 
lnnLr  a-  there's  lit'.-  there's  Imj 

Sally  DinirK-y  nin  arn»ss  the  room  and   }• 
I'iK'  .'id  then  canie  Lack  and  -aid  -he'd  take  a 

••!'  cake. 

••  l-'-.r  wlin  k-  -he,  "hut  what  I  .-hall   iret 

tlie  rini:  :  and  wlm  kn«»\vs  hut  what  I  shall  ho  married 
J  <»f  VMU.  now?" 

iriLf  lad'-  :   their  cako,  Mrs. 

••ailed  upnn   them   that  liad   tlic  r  ^tep 

ard   int<»  the   tl.n.r.      ['j.-.n   wliich,  Iv.iry  Harlow 
;.cd  "ut   nn   nne  -ide,   arid    Ilarri.-'    <  H 

M  Ah,  that  ain't  fair  :  that's  cheatin,  that's  cheatin," 
cried  nut  little  SaiFi  NeN-.n. 

M  Why,  what  dn  ymi  mean  l.y  that,  Sam  T  said  Mi^. 

"  Cause,"  said  Sam,  "  I  see  Susan,  when  she  was 
••  cake.  •  her  mouth,  and 

slip  it  into  Harriet  Ciihh-' 

^nsan  })lu-!i. -d.  Harriet  looked  angry,  and 

'.ed. 


52 

By  this  time  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  elderly 
people  began  to  think  it  was  time  fur  them  to  be 
moving  homeward.  And  as  soon  as  they  were  gone, 
the  young  folks  put  on  their  shawls  and  cloaks  and 
hats,  and  prepared  to  follow  them.  Before  they  went, 
however,  Ivory  Harlow  got  a  chance  to  whisper  to 
Susan  Brigirs  and  tell  her,  that  he  supposed  he  should 
have  to  carry  Harriet  home  this  time,  but  it  was  the 
last  time  he  should  ever  carry  her  anywhere,  as  long 
as  his  name  was  Ivory  Harlow. 


THE     TOUGH      YAKN.  53 


OHAPTEK  III. 

T  II  E    TOUGH    Y  A  II  X  I 

MAJOR  GRANT  of  Massachusetts  was  returning  home 
from  Moosehead  Lake,  where  lie  had  been  to  look 
at'tor  one  of  hi-  newly-purchased  townships,  ami  to 
sell  stumpage  to  tlic  loggers  for  the  ensuing  winter, 
when  he  stopped  tor  the  night  at  a  snug  tavern  in  one 
of  the  hack  towns  in  Maine,  and  having  been  to  the 
stahle,  and  seen  wiih  his  own  eye>  thai  his  horse  was 
\\vll  prnvided  with  hay  ami  grain,  lie  ivturne«l  to  the 
har-rooni,  hii-1  mJide  his  cloak,  and  t«>,.k  a  seat  by  the 
boa  \hich  was  waging  a  hot  war  with  the  c-«ld 

and  raw  atmosphere  of  November, 

'Hie  major  was  a  large,  portly  man,  well  to  do  in 
the  world,  and  l-»ved  his  (-..nit'.rt.  Having  calK'd  f,,r 
a  mnj-  of  hot  ilip,  he  Uad.-d  his  long  j.ipe,  an<l  ; 
pared  tor  a  l«»ng  and  conilortahle  <m«»ke.  lie  \\  a- 
als..  a  very  social  man,  and  there  hi-ing  hut  <»ne  person 
in  tlu1  ro.,m  with  him.  he  invited  him  to  join  him  in 
a  tumbler  ot'tlip.  This  gentleman  was  Doctor  Sn.»\v, 


an  active  member  of  a  temperance  society,  and  there 
fore  he  politely  begged  to  be  excused  ;  but  having  a 
good  shaiv  of  the  volubility  natural  to  his  profession, 
he  ivadily  entered  into  conversation  with  the  major, 
answered  many  of  his  inquiries  about  the  townships 
in  that  section  of  the  State,  described  minutely  the 
process  of  lumbering,  explained  how  it  might  l>e  made 
profitable,  and  showed  why  it  was  often  attended  with 
great  loss.  A  half  hour  thus  passed  imperceptibly 
away,  and  the  doctor  rose,  drew  his  wrapper  close 
about  him,  and  placed  his  cap  on  his  head.  The 
major  looked  round  the  room  with  an  air  of  uneasiness. 

"What,  going  so  soon,  Doctor?  >'omoro  company 
hero  to-night,  think?  Dull  business,  Doctor,  to  sit 
alone  one  of  these  long  tedious  evenings.  Always 
want  somebody  to  talk  with  ;  man  wasn't  made  to  be 
alone,  you  know." 

"True,"  said  the  doctor,  "  ami  I  should  be  happy 
to  spend  the  evening  with  you ;  but  I  have  to  go  three 
miles  to  see  a  patient  yet  to-night,  and  it's  high  time  I 
was  oif.  Hut  luckily,  Major,  you  won't  be  left  al 
after  all,  for  there  comes  Jack  Robinson,  driving  his 
horse  and  wagon  into  the  yard  now;  and  Ipn-ume 
IK  '11  not  only  spend  the  evening  with  you,  but  stop 
all  night," 


THK      Tof<,n      YAKN. 

"  Well,  that's  good  news,"  said  the  Major,  «  i; 
only  talk.     Will  ho  talk,  Doctor!" 

••Talk?   yes!    till  all  is  blue.       He's  the  greatest 

talk'  or  met.     I'll  tell  y. >u  what  'tis.  Major,  I'll 

bet   the  price  of  your  reckoning  here  to-night,  that 
you  may  ask  him  the  most  direct  simple  question  you 
please,  and  you  shan't  get  an  answer   from  him  under 
halt'  an  Imur,  and  he  shall  keep  talking  a  steady  str. 
the  wh.iU-  time,  too." 

"  Done,"  said  the  major  ;  "'tis  a  bet.  Let  us  umler- 
>tand  it  fairly,  now.  You  say  I  may  ask  him  any 
simple,  plain  question  I  please,  and  he  shall  he  halt' 
an  hour  answering  it,  and  talk  all  the  time  too;  and 
y.Mi  will  het  my  night's  reckoning  of  it." 
at's  the  bet  exactly,"  said  the  do< 

the  parties  shook  hands  upon  it,  just  as  the 
door  opened,  and  Mr.  Jack  Robinson  came  limping 
:n,  supported  by  a  crutch,  and  with  some 
thing  of  a  bustling,  care-for-no thing  air,  hobbled  a! 
toward  the  fire.     The  doctor    introduced    Mr.    .lack 
•n>oii  to  Maj.ir  (Irani,  and  after  the  usual  saluta 
tions  ami  shaking  of   hands,    Mr.    Robinson   to,.k 

upon  the  other  side  of  the  stove,  opposite  the 
major. 

Mr.  .lack    Robinson  was  a  small,  brisk  man,  with 


'  W  A  Y     D  O  W  N     E  A  8  T  . 


a  grey  twinkling  eye,  ami  a  knowing  expression  of 
countenance.  As  he  carefully  settled  himself  int.  »  hfe 
chair,  resting  his  lame  limb  against  the  edge  of  the 

stove-hearth,  he  threw  his  hat  carelessly  upon  the 
floor,  laid  his  crutch  aerOM  his  knee,  and  looked  round 
with  a  sati.-lied  air,  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Now,  gentle 
men,  if  you  want  to  know  the  time  of  day,  here's  the 
boy  that  can  tell  ye." 

"  Allow  me,  Mr.  Robinson,  to  help  you  to  a 
tumbler  of  hot  flip,"  said  the  major,  raising  the  mug 
from  the  stove. 

k'  With   all   my   heart,   and   thank  ye   too,"   said 
Eobinson,  taking  a  sip  from  the  tumbler.     "  I  belu 
there's  nothing  better  for  a  cold  day  than  a  hot  flip. 
I've  known  it  to  cure  many  a  one  who  was  thought  to 
he  in  a  consumption.     There's  something  so"  — 

"And   I  have  known  it,'1  said  the  doctor,  shrug 
ging  his  shoulders,    "  to  kill  many  a  one    that    • 
thought  to  have  an  excellent  constitution  and  sound 
health." 

"There's  something  so  wanning,"  continued  Mr. 
Robinson,  following  up  his  own  thoughts  so  i-arncstlv 
that  lie  seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  remark  <.f  tin- 
doctor,  "there's  something  so  warming  and  so  nott- 
rishing  in  hot  flip,  it  seems  to  give  new  life  t«,  the 


I  UK      T<>  U  «.  II       V  A  I  57 


blood,  and  puts  the  insides  all  in  good  trim.  And  as 
for  cold  weather,  it  will  keep  that  ..ut  better  than  any 
double-milled  kersey  or  fearnot  great  coat  that  I  ever 
see. 

"I  could  drive  twenty  miles  in  a  cold  day  with  a 
good  mug  of  hot  Hip  easier  than  I  could  ten  miles 
without  it.  And  this  is  a  cold  day,  gentlemen,  a  real 
c«.ld  day.  there's  no  mistake  about  it.  This  nor  wester 
cuts  like  a  ra/.-r.  But  tain't  nothing  near  so  cold  as 
'tw;  ar  ago,  the  twenty-second  day  of  this 

month.  That  day,  it  seemed  as  if  your  breath  would 
free/A'  still'  1  -f"t  an  inch  from  your  mouth.  I 

drove  my  little  Canada  grey  in  a  sleigh  that  day 
twelve  miles  in  forty-live  minutes,  and  froBB  two  of 
my  fcoefl  "ii  my  lame  leg  as  still'  ,  Them 

-  chill  a  great  deal  .p.icker  than  they  do  on  t'other 
foot.  In  my  well  d;,  :  er  froxc  the  coldest  day 
tha'  lew.  Hut  that  cold  sna]>,  the  twenty- 

second  day  of  last  November,  if  my  little  grey 
hadn't  Lr"ne  like  a  bird,  would  have  done  the  j«»b  for 
mv  ]'o..r  lame  t'.ot.  When  I  ir-.t  home  1  found  two 
of  my  >heep  dead,  and  they  uvre  under  a  good  s1 

And  one  of  my  neighbors,  poor  fellow,  went 
int.*  the  woods  after  a  load  of  wood,  and  we  found 
him  next  day  fiw.e  to  death,  leaning  up  against  a 


58  'WAY    DOWN     LAST. 

beech  tree  as  stiff  as  a  stake.  But  his  oxen  was  alive 
and  well.  It's  very  wonderful  how  much  longer  a 
brute  critter  will  stan'  the  cold  than  a  man  will. 
Them  oxen  didn't  even  shiver." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  doctor,  standing  with  his 
back  towards  Mr.  Robinson,  "perhaps  the  oxen  had 
taken  a  mug  of  hot  flip  before  they  went  into  the 
woods."' 

By  this  time  Major  Grant  began  to  feel  a  little 
suspicious  that  he  might  lose  his  bet,  and  was  setting 
all  his  wits  to  work  to  fix  on  a  question  so  direct  and 
limited  in  its  nature,  that  it  could  not  fail  to  draw 
from  Mr.  Robinson  a  pretty  direct  answer.  He  had 
thought  at  first  of  making  some  simple  inquiry  about 
the  weather ;  but  he  now  felt  convinced  that,  witli 
Mr.  Robinson,  the  weather  was  a  very  copious  subject. 
He  had  also  several  times  thought  of  asking  some 
question  in  relation  to  the  beverage  they  were  drink 
ing;  such  as,  whether  Mr.  Robinson  preferred  tlip  1., 
hot  sling.  And  at  first  he  could  hardly  perceive,  if 
the  question  were  put  direct,  how  it  could  fail  to 
bring  out  a  direct  yes  or  no.  But  the  discursive 
nature  of  Mr.  Robinson's  eloquence  on  flip  had  already 
induced  him  to  turn  liis  thoughts  in  another  direction 
for  a  safe  and  suitable  question.  IK-  thought 


i  H  E   TOCG  H    ri  I  59 

he  would  make  his  inquiry  in  ivt'nvnre  to  Mr.  Robin 
son's  lanu'iu'ss.  IK-  would  have  asked  the  cause  of 
hi>  lameiu'ss,  l>ut  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that 
the  cause  mi«:ht  not  be  clearly  known,  or  his  lame 
ness  might  have  l»een  produced  by  a  complication  of 
causes,  that  would  allow  too  much  latitude  for  a  reply. 
11.  res-.lved,  therefore,  simply  to  ask  him  whether  his 
Ian  ion  os  was  in  the  leg  or  in  tfre  foot.  That  was  a 
question  which  it  appeared  to  him  required  a  short 
an-wor.  For  if  it  were  in  the  leg,  Mr.  Robinson 
would  say  it  was  in  his  log;  and  if  it  were  in  his 
foot,  he  would  at  once  reply,  in  his  foot;  and  if  it 
were  in  both,  what  could  be  more  natural  than  that 
he  >hoiild  <ay,  in  Loth?  and  that  would  seem  to  be 
tin-  end  of'  the  story. 

Having  at  length  fully  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the 
point  of  attack,  he  prepared  for  tlio  charge,  and 
taking  a  careless  look  at  his  watch,  he  gavo  the 
doctor  a  sly  wink.  Sn0W,  without  turning  or 

scarce  appearing  t<»  move,  drew*  his  watch  from 
heneath  his  wrapper  so  far  a<  to  066  the  hour,  and 
ivturned  it  again  to  hi-  podb 

-  Mr.  Kohinson,"  said  the  major,  "if  I  may  pre 
sume  to  make  the  inquiry,  is  your  lameness  in  the 
leg  or  in  the  foot?" 


60  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"Well,  that  reminds  me,"   said    Mr.   Kobinson, 
taking  a  sip  from  the  tumbler,  which  he  still  hold  in 
his  hand,  "  that  reminds  me  of  what  my  old  father 
said  to  me  once  when  I  was  a  boy.     Says  he,  '  Jack, 
you  blockhead,  don't  you  never  tell  where  anything 
is,  unless  you  can  first  tell  how  it  come  there.'    The 
reason  of  his  saying  it  was  this  :   Father  and  I  was 
coming  in  the  steamboat  from  ]S"ew  York  to  Provi 
dence;    and   they  was  all  strangers  on  board — we 
didn't  know  one  of  'em  from  Adam ;   and  on  the 
way,  one  of  the  passengers  missed  his  pocket-book, 
and  begun  to  make  a  great  outcry  about  it.     He 
called  the  captain,  and  said  there  must  be  a  search. 
The  boat  must  be  searched,  and  all  the  passengers 
and  all  on  board  must  be  searched.     Well,  the  cap 
tain  he  agreed  to  it ;  and  at  it  they  went,  and  over 
hauled    everything  from  one  end  of   the    boat  to 
t'other;  but  they  couldn't  find  hide  nor  hair  of  it. 
And  they  searched  all  the  passengers  and  all  the 
hands,  but  they  couldn't  get  no  track  on't.     And  the 
man  that  lost  the  pocket-book  took  on  and  made  a 
-i cat  fuss.     He  said  it  wasn't  so  much  on  account  of 
the  money,  for  there  wasn't  a  great  deal  in  it;  but 
the  papers  in  it  were  of  great  consequence  to  him, 
and  he  offered  to  give  ten  dollars  to  any  body  that 


i  ii  i.     rOUOfi     v  A  i:  N  .  til 

would  lind  it.      Pivtty  soon  after  that,  I  was  tixin'  up 
father's  herth    a   little,  where    In-  was   ir-'inir  to  .-leep. 

and  1  found  tlu-  pocket-book  under  the  clothei  at  tin- 

head  of  the  berth,  where  the  thief  had  tucked  it 
away  while  the  search  was  going  on.  So  I  took  it, 
tickled  enough,  and  run  t<»  the  man,  and  told  him  I 
had  found  his  pocket-hook.  He  catclied  it  out  of  my 
haiuk  and  savs  he.  •  AVliere  did  yuii  lind  it?'  S: 
I,  4  Under  the  clothes  in  the  head  of  my  father's 
berth.' 

••  •  In  voiir  tatliers  berth,  did  you?'  says  he,  and  lie 
a  l..,,k  and  spoke  so  sharp,  I  jumped  as  if  I 
wasgoin^r  cut  <>1'  mv  >kin. 

v.   me  the  i>hice.' 

"So  I  run  and  .-Imwed  him  the  p! 

"'Call  y..ur  father  here/  says  he.     So  I  run  and 
called  lather. 

he  t«>  father,  *  I  should  like  to 
know  h<)\\-  my  pocket-hook  come  in  your  lu-rth.' 

u<  I  don't  know  nothin'  ahout  it,'  says  father. 

"Then  lie  turned  to  me  and  says  he,  '  Vuiin^  man, 
ho\v  came  this  pocket-l»<,ok  in  yoiii-  fatln-r'-  hi-rtli  f 

!, •!!.      I  lound  it   there,  and   that's 
all  I  know  ahout  it." 

"Tl.  :dle«l  the  captain  and  asked  him  if  he 


62 


knew  us.  The  captain  said  he  didn't.  The  man 
looked  at  us  mighty  sharp,  first  to  father,  and  then  to 
me,  and  eyed  us  from  top  to  toe.  We  wasn't  neither 
of  us  dressed  very  slick,  and  we  could  tell  by  his  looks 
pretty  well  what  he  was  thinking.  At  last  he  said 
he  would  leave  it  to  the  passengers  whether,  under  all 
the  circumstances,  he  should  pay  the  boy  the  ten 
dollars  or  not.  I  looked  at  father,  and  his  face  was 
as  red  as  a  blaze,  and  I  see  his  dander  begun  to  rise. 
He  didn't  wait  for  any  of  the  passengers  to  give  their 
opinion  about  it,  but  says  he  to  the  man,  "  Dod-rot 
your  money !  if  you've  got  any  more  than  you  want, 
you  may  throw  it  into  the  sea  for  what  I  care  ;  but  if 
you  offer  any  of  it  to  my  boy,  I'll  send  you  where  a 
streak  of  lightning  wouldn't  reach  you  in  six 
months." 

"  That  seemed  to  settle  the  business ;  the  man  didn't 
say  no  more  to  father,  and  most  of  the  passengers 
begun  to  look  as  if  they  didn't  believe  lather  was 
guilty.  But  a  number  of  times  after  that,  on  the 
passage,  I  see  the  man  that  lost  the  pocket-book  whis- 
pi-r  to  some  of  the  passengers,  and  then  turn  and  look 
at  father.  And  then  iatlh-r  would  look  gritty  enough 
to  bite  a  board-nail  off.  When  we  got  ashore,  as  soon 
as  we  got  a  little  out  of  sight  of  folks,  father  catrhrd 


i  ii  i;     rOUOH     v  A  i  03 

hold  ,,f  my  arm  and  gave  it  a  most  awful  jerk,  and 
I  he,  "Jack  y.»u  hW-kheud,  don't  you  never  lull 
where  any  tiling  is  again,  unless  you  can  first  tell  how 
it  coiiu-  there. " 

••N«>w  it  would  be  about  as  ditlicult,"  continued 
Uobinson  after  a  -light  pause,  which  lie  employed 
in  taking  a  >ip  l'n>m  his  tumbler,  "for  me  to  tell  to  a 
( vrtainty  how  I  come  by  this  lameness,  as  it  was  to 
tell  how  the  pocket-book  come  in  father's  berth. 
There  was  a  hundred  f«»lks  aboard,  and  we  knew  some 
of'em  mu>t  a  put  it  in;  but  which  one  'twas,  it  would 
have  pux/lcd  a  Philadelphia  lawyer  to  tell.  Well, 
ii'-  pivtty  miu-li  so  with  my  lameness.  This  poor  leg 
of  mini'  has  puu»  through  some  nu»st  awt'ul  sieges, 
and  it's  a  w«>nder  there's  an  inch  of  it  left.  But  it's  a 

pretty  - 1  1< -•  yet;  I  can  almost  bear  my  weight 

upon  it  ;  and  with  the  help  of  a  crutch  you'd  be  sur- 
prisod  to  see  how  fast  I  can  get  over  the  ground." 

"Then  yinir  laniene^  is  in  the  leg  rather  than  in 
the  foot?"  said  Maj««r  Grant,  taking  advantage  of  a 
sh«>rt  pause  in  Mr.  Robinson's  speech. 

••  \\Y11.  I  was  going  on  to  tell  yon  all  the  particu 
lars."  said  Mr.  Robinson.  "Y<>u'\r  no  idea  what 
tm-il.le  narrow  chances  I've  g..:  j-h  with  this 


64  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"  Then  the  difficulty  is  in  the  leg,  is  it  not  ?"  said 
Major  Grant. 

"  "Well,  after  I  tell  you  the  particulars,"  said  Mr. 
Robinson,  "  you  can  judge  for  yourself.  The  way  it 
first  got  hurt  was  going  in  a  swimming,  when  I  was 
about  twelve  years  old.  I  could  swim  like  a  duck, 
and  used  to  be  in  Uncle  John's  mill-pond  along  with 
his  Stephen  half  the  time.  Uncle  John,  he  always 
used  to  keep  scolding  at  us  and  telling  of  us  we  should 
get  sucked  into  the  floome  Lime-by,  and  break  our 
plaguy  necks  under  the  water-wheel.  But  we  knew 
better.  We'd  tried  it  so  much  we  could  tell  jest  how 
near  we  could  go  to  the  gate  and  get  away  airain  with 
out  being  drawn  through.  But  one  day  Steeve,  jest  to 
plague  me,  threw  my  straw  hat  into  tike  pond  between 
me  and  the  gate.  I  was  swimming  about  two  rods  from 
the  gate,  and  the  hat  was  almost  as  near  as  we  dared 
to  go,  and  the  stream  was  suckinir  it  d«»\vii  pretty  fast; 
so  I  sprung  with  all  my  might  t<>  catch  the  hat  before 
it  should  go  through  and  irct  smashed  under  the  water- 
wheel.  "When  I  got  within  about  half  my  length  of 
it,  I  found  I  was  as  near  the  irate  as  we  ever  dared  to 
go.  But  I  hated  to  lose  the  hat,  and  1  th«  mirht  I  might 
venture  to  go  a  little  nearer,  so  I  fetched  a  spring  with 
all  my  might,  and  grabbed  the  hat  and  put  it  on  my 


T  II  K      TOU«  H       V    \  li  N  .  fO 

head,  and  turned  hack  ami  pulled  t'«.r  my  lite.  At 
tir-t  I  th. -light  I  gained  a  little,  and  I  made  my  hand* 
and  feet  fly  as  tight  as  I  could  spring.  In  ah'.ut  a 
minute  I  found  I  didn't  gain  a  hit  one  way  nor  t'other; 
and  then  I  sprung  as  it'  I  would  a  toiv  my  arm-  oil'; 
and  it  seemed  a*  it'  I  could  feel  the  sweat  start  all  OV6T 
me  right  there  in  the  water.  I  begun  to  feel  all  at 
if  death  had  me  hy  the  heels,  and  I  -creamed 
for  help.  Stephen  was  on  the  shore  watching  me,  hut 
he  couldn't  get  near  enough  to  help  me.  When  ho 
see  I  couldn't  gain  any,  and  heard  me  scream,  he 
about  a-  BCa  .  and  turned  and  run  tOWl 

mill,  and  screamed  t'«>r  uncle  as  Imid  as  he  could 
hawl.  In  a  minuie  uncle  come  running  to  the  mill- 
J..U.  •  time  enough  to  see  me  going 

through    the    gate    feet    t'on-inost.      Uncle    >aid,    \\    he 
should  1:\  e  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah,  he  should  never 
hat  a  he-eeching  look  m;.  id  as  1  lifted 

up  my  hands  towards  him  and  then  Mink  guggling 
into  the  th-ome.      lie  knew  I  >h«>uld  he  sma-hed  all  to 

•i's  under  the  great  water-wheel  :  hut  he  run  round 
-  he  could  to  the  tail  of  the  mill   to  he   ready 
to  pick  up  my  mangled  hody  when  it  got   through,  so 
I  iniirh  ried    home  and   buried.      IVosentl^ 

me  drifr'  •.*•  in  the  white  foam  that  Qftme  out 


66  '  W  A  Y      D  O  W  N     E  A  8  T  . 

from  under  the  mill,  and  he  got  a  polo  with  a  hook  to 
it  and  drawed  me  to  the  shore.  He  found  I  was  not 
jammed  all  to  pieces  as  he  expected,  though  he 
couldn't  see  any  signs  of  life.  But  having  consider 
able  doctor  skill,  he  went  to  work  upon  me,  and  ml  led 
me  over,  and  rubbed  me,  and  worked  upon  me,  till 
bimc-by  I  began  to  groan  and  breathe.  And  at  last 
I  come  to,  so  I  could  speak.  They  carried  me  home 
and  sent  for  a  doctor  to  examine  me.  My  left  foot  and 
leg  was  terribly  brui-ed,  and  one  of  the  bones  broke, 
and  that  was  all  the  hurt  there  was  on  me.  T  must 
have  gone  lengthways  right  in  between  two  buckets 
of  the  water-wheel,  and  that  saved  my  life.  P>ut  this 
poor  leg  and  foot  got  such  a  bruising  I  wasn't  aide  to 
go  a  step  on  it  for  three  months,  and  never  got  entirely 
over  it  to  this  day." 

"Then  your  lameness  is  in  the  leg  and  foot  both,  is 
it  not?"  said  Major  Grant,  Imping  at  this  favorable 
point  to  get  an  answer  to  this  question. 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that  bruising  under  the  mill-wheel," 
1  ?»fr.  Jack  Robinson,  "that  caused  this  lamem— , 
though  I've  no  doubt  it  caused  a  part  of  it  and  helps 
to  make  it  worse;  but  it  wasn't  the  principal  Cft 
I've  had  tougher  scrapes  than  that  in  my  day,  and  I 
was  «rni«g  on  to  tell  you  what  I  s'pose  hurt  my 


I   11  K      T  Of  Jill       Y  A  !  67 

m.>re  than  anything  •  happened  <  to  it     When 

I  was  alu. ut  eighteen  veai*s  old  I  was  tin-  irivatest 
hunter  there  wa-  within  twenty  miles  round.  I  had 
a  fir  little  fowling-piece;  she  would  carry  as 

as   a   hair.     I   could    hit  a  squirrel  fifty  yards 
twenty  times  runniiiir.     And  at   all  the  thanksgiving 

'iiiiLr-matches  I  used  to  pop  ,,ti'  the  geese  and 
turl  -t.  it  -poilt  all  their  i'uii ;  and  they  got  so 

at  last  they  wouldn't  let  me  lire  till  all  the  rest  had 
tired  r«.und  tlnve  timoa  a  piece.  And  when  all  of 
'em  had  iired  at  a  turkey  three  times  and  couldn't 
hit  it,  they  would  say,  'well,  that  turkey  belongs  to 
IjMbinson.'  So  I  would  up  and  lire  and  j>oj,  it 

.     Well,    I    used    to   be    al;i  rla-tinirly   a 

irnnniiiLr;  and   1  uld  fret  and  scold,  because 

"vvhem-ver  there  was  any  woi'k  to  do,  J;i»-k  wa<  always 
oil'  in  th.-  woods.  One  day  1  i  to  go  o\ 

Mountain,  al»«.ut  two  miles  iroin  home,  to  tee  if  I 
couldn't  kill  some  raccoon^  ;  and  1  to.  .k  my  brother 

I,  who  was  thn-e  years  yoiintrer  than  niy-elt',  with 
me  to  hclj)  lirin^  home  the  irame.  We  took  some 

;d  and  du-e-e  and  doughnuts  in  our  pockets,  for 
we  calculated  t<>  IK-  Lr«»ne  all  day,  and  I  shouldered 
my  little  fowl  in  L  and  took  a  plenty  of  pow< 

and  >hot  and  small  1  ml  lets,  'and  off  we  started  jjirough 


68  '  W  A  Y      I)  O  W  N       i;  A  S  T  . 

the  woods.     When  we  got  round  the  other  side  of 
Bear  Mountain,  where  I  had  always  had  the  best  luck 
in  hunting,  it  was  about  noon.     On  the  way  I  had 
killed  a  couple  of  grey  squirrels,  a  large  fat  raccoon, 
and  a  hedge-hog.     We  sot  down  under  a  large  beech 
tree  to  eat  our  bread  and  cheese.     As  we  sot  eatinir, 
we  looked  up  into  the  tree,  and  it  was  very  full  of 
(•limits.     They  were  about  ripe,  but  there  had  not 
been  frost  enough  to  make  them  drop  much  from  the 
tree.     So  says  I  to  Ked,  Let  us  take  some  sticks  ami 
climb  this  tree  and  beat  off  some  nuts  to  carry  home. 
So  we  got  some  sticks,  and  up  we  went.     We  hadn't 
but  jest  got  cleverly  up  into  the  body  of  the  tree, 
before   we   heard    something  crackling    among  the 
bushes  a  few  rods  off.     We  looked  and  listened,  and 
heard  it  again,  louder  and  nearer.     In  a  minute  we 
see  the  bushes  moving,  not  three  rods  oil'  from  the 
tree,  and  something  black  stirring  about  amon<r  tli 
Tli en  out  come  an  awful  great  black  bear,  the  ugliest- 
looking  feller  that  ever  I  laid  my  eyes  on.     He  looked 
up  toward-  the  tree  we  was  on,  and  turned  up  hU  nose 
as  though  he  was   snutling  something.      I  beijun   to 
feel    pretty   streaked;     I     knew    hears    was    terrible 
climbers,  and  I'd  a  gin  all  the  world  if  I'd  onjv  had 
my  gun  in  my  hand,  well  loaded.     But  there  was  no 


I 

TII  i  B    TAfcH.  (• 

tinio  to  go  down  a  ft  i  r  it  now,  and  I  thought  the  only 
wav  wa>  to  keep  as  >till  as  possible,  and  perhaps  he 
niiirht  go  off  again  about  his  business.  S<»  we  didn't 
stir  n«>r  hardly  breathe.  Whether  the  old  teller  smelt 

r  whether  ho  was  looking  for  beechnuts,  I  don't 
know;  but  he  reared  right  upon  his  hind  legs  and 
walked  as  straight  to  the  tree  as  a  man  could  walk. 
1I--  walked  round  the  tree  twice,  and  turned  his  great 
black  aoee  up,  and  looked  more  like  Old  Nick  than 
anything  I  ever^ee  before.  Then  he  stuck  his  sharp 
nails  into  the  sides  of  the  tree,  and  begun  to  hitch 
him-elf  up.  I  felt  as  if  we  had  got  into  a  bad  scrape, 
and  wished  we  was  out  of  it,  Ned  begun  to  cry. 
Hut,  says  I  to  Ned,  'It's  no  use  to  take  on  about  it ; 
it'  he's  coining  up  we  must  light  him  nil*  the  best  way 
we  can/  We  climVd  up  higher  into  the  tree,  and 
the  old  bear  come  hitching  along  up  after  us.  I 
made  Ned  go  up  above  me,  and,  as  I  had  a  pretty 

1  club  in  my  hand,  I  thought  I  might  be  able  to 
keep  the  old  teller  down.  lie  didn't  seem  to  stop  for 
the  beechnut-,  but  kept  climbing  right  up  towards 
us.  When  he  g.-t  up  pretty  near  I  poked  my  club  at 
him,  and  h.  h  and  growled.  Says  I, 

'Ned,  scrabble  up  a  little  liig'1  r/  We  dim  up  two 
or  three  limbs  higher,  and  the  old  bear  followed  close 


70  'WAY    DO w N 

after.  AVhen  he  got  up  so  he  could  almost  touch  my 
feet,  I  thought  it  was  time  to  begin  to  fight.  So  I  up 
witli  my  club  and  tried  to  fetch  him  a  pelt  over  the 
nose.  And  the  very  first  l>l<>w  lie  knocked  the  club 
right  out  of  my  hand,  with  his  groat  nigger  paw,  as 
easy  as  I  could  knock  it  out  of  the  hand  of  a  baby  a 
year  old.  I  begun  to  think  then  it  was  gone  goose 
with  us.  However,  I  took  Ned's  club,  and  thought 
I'd  try  once  more ;  but  he  knocked  it  out  of  my  hand 
like  a  feather,  and  made  another  hitch  and  grabbed 
at  my  feet.  We  scrabbled  up  the  tree,  and  he  after 
us,  till  we  got  almost  to  the  top  of  the  tree.  At  last 
I  had  to  stop  a  little  for  Ned,  and  the  old  bear 
clinched  my  feet.  First  he  stuck  his  claw  into  'em, 
and  then  lie  stuck  his  teeth  into  'em,  and  begun  to 
iiaw.  I  felt  as  if  'twas  a  gone  case,  but  I  kicked  and 
lit,  and  told  Ned  to  get  up  higher;  and  he  did  get  up 
a  little  higher,  and  I  gnt  up  a  little  higher  too,  and 
the  old  hear  made  another  hitch  and  come  np  higher, 
and  begun  to  naw  my  heels  again.  And  then  the  t«»p 
of  the  tree  begun  to  bend,  for  we  had  got  up  so  high 
we  was  all  on  a  single  limb  as  'twere  ;  and  it  bent  a 
little  more,  and  cracked  and  broke,  and  down  we 
went,  hear  and  all,  ab«»ut  thirty  feet,  to  the  ground. 
At  first  I  didn't  know  whether  I  was  dead  or  alive. 


I   il  K      TO  I*  (,  II       ^    A   i:  N   .  71 

guess  we  all  lay  8till  as  much  as  u  minute  l>ef»iv  we 

could  make  out  lo  1-ivathe.     When  I  come  to  my  feel- 

ini:  a  little,  I  found  the  hear  had  fell  OH  my  hum-  h'ir. 

and  irivr  it  another  most  awful  crush  iiur.     Xed  wasn't 

hurt  much.      He  fell  on  top  of  tlie  lu-ar,  and  the  lu-ar 

ti-Il  ]»artlv  <>n  me.      Nr<l  -pninir  "if  and  tir«>t  «»ut  «>f 

way   ..f  tin'  lirar:  and   in  aln.ut   a   minute  more  the 

ht-ar  crawU-d   up  sl«»wly  on   to  liis  t'rrt,  and   lu'Lran  to 

walk  otK  without   taking  any  notice  of  us,  and  I  wa- 

166  that  he  went  rather  lame.     When 

me  to  try  my  h-ir*  I  found  one  of 'em  '  :l»ly 

;.  and  I  eouldn't  walk  a  step  on  it.     So  I  told 

',  to  hand  me  my  irun,  and   t«»  i_r"  lioim-   a-   fa-' 

h« uld  go,  and  iM  tin-  h-.rse   and    father,  and   come 

and  carrv  me  lionio. 

"Ned  went  oil'  upon  the  quick  tmt.  a-  if  lie  was  aftei 
the  I'ut  the  l)lunderin«r  crittor — Xo«l  alwav- 

wa-  a  Lrn-at  l>lun<lerer — l«»t  his  way  and  wanden-d 
it  in  tlie  wo,,d<  all  ni-'ht,  and  didn't  _iret  home  till 
sunrUc  n«-\t  mnrninir.  The  way  T  spent  the  niirht 
wa-n't  V.TV  eonifortahle,  I  can  tell  ye. 
dark  it  hrirun  t«»  rain,  and  I  lo,.k»-d  round  to  try  to 
tind  <..,,!••  kind  ofa-hclter.  At  la.-t  [fee I  ree, 

lyin^  ..n  the  ground  a  little  way-  olV.  that   -ernu-d  to 
be  holler.      I   crawled  along  to  it,  and   found  there 


s 


'  W  A  V       DM  \V  N       i;  A  >   1   . 


was  a  holler  in  one  end  large  enough  lor  me  to  creep 
into.     Soin  1  went,  and  in  order  to  get  entirely  out 
of  the  way  of  the  spam-ring  of  the  rain,  and  keep 
myself  dry,  I  crept  in  as  much  as  ten  feet.     I  laid 
there  and  rested  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  though  my 
leg  pained  me  too  much  to  sleep.     Some  time  in  the 
night,  all  at  once,  I  lieerd  a  sort  of  rustling  noise  at 
the  end  of  the  log  where  I  come  in.     My  hair  stood 
right  on  eencl.     It  was  dark  as  Egypt ;  I  couldn't  see 
the  least  thing,  but  I  could  hoar  the  rustling  noise 
again,  and  it  sounded  as  if  it  was  coining  into  the  log. 
I  held  my  breath,  but  I  could  hear  something  breath 
ing  heavily,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  scratch 
ing  against  the  sides  of  the  log,  and  it  kept  working 
along  in  towards  me.     I  clinched  my  fowling-piece 
and  held  on  to  it.     'Twas  well  loaded  with  a  brace  of 
halls  and  some  shot  besides.     "Hut  whether  to  fire,  or 
what  to  do,  I  couldn't  tell.     I  was  sure  there  was  some 
terrible  critter  in  the  log,  and  the  rustling  noise  ki'pt 
coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  me.     At  last  I  lieerd  a 
low  kind  of  a  growl.     I  thought  if  I  was  only  dead 
and  decently  buried  somewhere  I  should  be  glad  ;  for 
to  be  eat  up  alive  there  by  bears,  or  wolves,  or  cata 
mounts,  I  couldn't    hear   the  idea  of  it.      In  a  minute 
more  something  made  a  horrible  grab  at  my  feet,  and 


T  II  K      TOT  <,  H       YARN.  73 

nn  to  naw  'em.  At  tir-t  I  crawled  a  little  further 
into  the  tree.  Hut  the  critter  WM  hold  of  my  feet 
again  in  a  minute,  an«l  I  f«»nnd  it  was  no  use  for  me 
•  in  anv  farther.  I  didn't  hardly  dare  to  fire  ;  for 
I  thought  if  I  didn't  kill  the  critter,  it  would  only  be 
likely  to  make  him  light  the  harder.  And  then  again 
I  thought  if  I  should  kill  him,  and  he  should  he  tt 
large  as  I  fancied  him  to  he,  I  should  never  be  able 
to  shove  him  out  of  the  log,  nor  to  get  out  by  him. 
While  1  was  having  these  thoughts  the  old  feller  was 
nawing  ami  tearing  my  feet  so  bad,  I  found  he  would 
soon  kill  me  if  I  laid  still.  So  I  took  my  gun  and 
pointed  down  by  my  feet.  a<  near  the  centre  of  the 
liolh-r  log  as  1  could,  and  let  drive.  The  report 
almost  stunned  me.  P,ut  when  I  come  to  my  hearing 
again,  I  laid  still  and  listened.  Everything  round 
me  was  >till  as  death  :  1  couldn't  hear  the  least  sound. 
1  crawled  back  a  few  inches  toward-  the  mouth  of  the 
log,  and  wa- Mopt  1,\-  something  againM  my  feet.  1 
pushed  it.  'rl'would  give  a  little,  but  I  couldn't  move 
it.  I  got  my  hand  down  far  enough  to  reach, 
and  felt  the  fur  and  hair  and  ears  of  some  terrihle 
animal. 

"That    was  an  awful    long  night.     And   when  the 

morning  did  come,  the  critter  filled  the  holler  up  BO 

4 


74 

much,  there  was  hut  very  little  light  come  in  where 
I  was.  I  tried  again  t<>  shove  the  animal  towards  the 
mouth  of  the  log,  but  I  found  'twas  no  use, — I  couldn't 
move  him.  At  last  the  light  come  in  so  much  that  I 
felt  pretty  sure  it  was  a  monstrous  great  bear  that  I 
had  killed.  But  I  begun  to  feel  now  as  if  I  was  burie«  1 
alive  ;  for  I  was  afraid  our  folks  wouldn't  find  me, 
and  I  was  sure  I  never  could  get  out  myself.  But 
about  two  hours  after  sunrise,  all  at  once  I  thought  I 
heered  somebody  holler  "  Jack."  I  listened  and  I 
heered  it  again,  and  I  knew  'twas  father's,  voice.  I 
answered  as  loud  as  I  could  holler.  They  kept  holler 
ing,  and  I  kept  hollering.  Sometimes  they  would  go 
further  off  and  sometimes  come  nearer.  My  voice 
sounded  so  queer  they  couldn't  tell  where  it  come  fr<  »m, 
nor  what  to  make  of  it.  At  hist,  by  going  round  con 
siderable,  they  found  my  voice  seemed  to  be  some  where 
round  the  holler  tree,  and  bime-by  father  come  along 
and  put  his  head  into  the  holler  of  the  tree,  and  called 
out,  '  Jack,  are  you  here  ?'  *  Yes  I  be,'  says  I,  '  and  I 
\\-ishyouwouhl  pull  this  hear  nut,  so  lean  get  out 
myself.'  When  they  got  us  out,  I  was  about  as  much 
dead  as  alive  ;  but  they  got  me  on  to  the  horse,  and 
led  me  home  and  nursed  me  up,  and  had  a  doctor  to 
set  my  leg  again  ;  and  it's  a  pretty  good  leg  yet." 


THE     TOUCi  H      V    \  KN  .  75 

Here,  while  Mr.  Robinson  was  taking  another  sip 
his  tumbler,  Major  Grant  glanced  at  his  watch, 
an<L  looking  up  to  Doctor  Snow,  said,  with  a  gruvr, 
quk-t  air,  "  Doctor,  I  give  it  up  ;  the  bet  is  yours." 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHRISTOPHER   CROTCHET. 

Yui  i:  Xew  England  country  singing-master  is  a. 
peculiar  character;  who  shall  venture  to  descriU- 
him  ?  During  his  stay  in  a  country  village,  he  is  the 
most  important  personage  in  it.  The  common  school 
master,  to  be  sure,  is  a  man  of  dignity  and  import 
ance.  Children  never  pass  him  on  the  road  without 
turning  square  round,  pulling  off  their  hats,  and 
making  one  of  their  best  and  most  profound  b<n\ >. 
He  is  looked  up  to  with  universal  deference  both  by 
young  and  old,  and  is  often  invited  out  to  tea.  Or, 
if  he  "  boards  round,"  great  is  the  parade,  and  great 
the  preparation,  by  each  family,  when  their  "  week 
for  boarding  the  master"  draws  near.  Then  not 
unfrequently  a  well  fatted  porker  is  killed,  and  the 
spare-ribs  are  duly  hung  round  the  pantry  in  readi 
ness  for  roasting.  A  half  bushel  of  sausages  un 
made  up  into  "  links,"  and  suspended  on  a  pole  near 
the  ceiling  from  one  end  of  the  kitchen  to  the  other. 


r  H  R I  STOP  H  I  i:     OXOTOH1  »  » 

An«l  tlu-  Saturday  bet'  .ivhaml,  it'  the  school-master  is 
nine  Mil  Monday,  tho  work  of  preparation  rMC 
•risis.     Then   it  is,  that  the  old  oven,  it'  it  be  not 
'•  In  .  ,-n  times  hotterthan  it   is  wont   to  be,"  is 

at  h-ast  heated  seven  times;  ami  apple-pies,  ami 
pumpkin-pies,  ami  mince-pies  are  turned  out  by 
dozens,  ami  parked  away  in  cl«»set  and  cellar  for 
the  coming  week.  And  the  ufore  room,"  which  lias 
iiMt  had  a  lire  in  it  t'-T  the  winter,  is  now  duly  washed 
and  scrubbed  and  put  to  rights,  and  wood  is  heaped 
OH  the  tire  with  a  liberal  hand,  till  the  room  it>elf 
become.-  almo-t  aiiMiher  oven.  George  is  up  beti. 
on  Mondav  m< -ruing  to  go  with  his  hand-sled  and 
bring  the  master's  trunk;  Betaq  and  Sally  are  rigf 
out  in  their  be-t  calie"  gMwn<,  the  little  one-  have  their 
;  and  t!H-ir  hair  combed  with  more  than 
ordinary  care,  and  the  mother's  cap  has  an  extra 
crimp.  And  all  this  stir  and  preparation  tbr  the 
oommon  Bchool-mastor.  I  he  is  but  an  every- 

dav  phim-t,  that  movi-s  in  a   regular  orbit,  and   OOH 

1  at  lea~t  every  winter. 

Hut     the     91  /'    is     your     true     comet. 

Aj'pearing   at    no    n-gulur    interval-,    he    (Mines    sud- 

ily,  and  otu-n    ui  !.      I'rilliant,    m\ 

and  i-rratic,  no  ^  bal  he  ;-  ill  eyes,  and 


78 

produces  a  tremendous  sensation.  Not  only  the  chil 
dren,  but  the  whole  family,  flock  to  the  windows 
when  he  passes,  and  a  face  may  be  seen  at  every  pane 
of  glass,  eagerly  peering  out  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  singing-master.  Even  the  very  dogs  seem  to 
partake  of  the  awe  he  inspires,  and  bark  with 
uncommon  fierceness  whenever  they  meet  him. 

"O,  father,"  said  little  Jimmy  Brown,  as  he  came 
running  into  the  house  on  a  cold  December  night, 
with  eyes  staring  wide  open,  and  panting  for  breath. 
"  O,  father,  Mr.  Christopher  Crotchet  from  Quaver- 
town,  is  over  to  Mr.  Gibbs'  tavern,  come  to  see  about 
kt-eping  singing-school;  and  Mr.  Gibbs,  and  a  whole 
parcel  more  of  'em,  wants  you  to  come  right  over 
there,  cause  they're  goin'  to  have  a  meeting  this 
evening  to  see  about  hiring  of  him." 

Squire  Brown  and  his  family,  all  except  Jim  my, 
were  seated  round  the  supper  table  when  this  inter 
esting  piece  of  intelligence  was  announced.  Every 
one  save  Squire  Brown  himself,  gave  a  sudden  start, 
and  at  once  suspended  operations;  but  the  Squire, 
who  was  a  very  moderate  man,  and  never  did  any 
thing  from  impulse,  ate  on  without  turning  his  head, 
or  changing  his  position.  After  a  short  pause,  li-»\\-- 
ever,  which  was  a  moment  of  intense  anxiety  to  some 


<•  11  R  I  ST  o  i- H  K  R     CROTCHET.  79 

members    of    the    family,    he    replied    to    Jimmy    as 
follows : — 

"I  shan't  do  no  sieh  tiling;  if  they  want  a  sinirin-- 
school,  they  may  get  it  themselves.  A  sini:in^->cho,.l 
won't  do  us  no  good,  and  I've  ways  enough  to  spend 
my  money  without  paying  it  for  singinir."  Turning 
his  head  round  and  <-.  look  upon 

Jimmy,  he  proceeded  with  increasini:  eneq 

M  Now,  sir,  hang  your  hat  up  and  set  down  and 
eat  your  supper;  I  should  like  to  know  what  sent 
von  nil'  <>ver  to  the  tavern  without  leave." 

M  1  wanted  to  see  the  singing-master,"  said  Jimmy. 
••>am  (Jibbssaid  there  was  a  siiiiring-m:,  r  t" 

their  house,  and  so  I  wanted  to  see  him." 

••  Well,  I'll  singing-master  you,"  said  the  S.juire, 
"if  I  cjtch  you  to  go  off  so  again  without  leave. 
Come,  don't  stand  there;  set  down  and  eat  your 
Mipper,  or  I'll  trounce  you  in  two  minute-." 

-There,  I   declare."  slid    Mi--.  Drown,  ••  I  do  think 

oo  bad.     I  do  wish  I  could    live  in   \«  ; 
moment  «.f  my  life.     The  children  will  he  spoilt    and 
ruined.       T:  --an    >tir    a    sti-p    nor    hardly 

l.realhe,  hut  what  they  mu>t   be  scolded    and    fiv 
to  death." 

S.juire     r.r.-wn    had     l>een    accustomed    to 


80 

sudden  squalls  about  twenty-five  years,  they  having 
commenced  some  six  months  or  so  after  his  marriage  ; 
and  long  experience  had  taught  him,  that  the  only 
way  to  escape  with  safety,  was  to  bear  away  immedi 
ately  and  scud  before  the  wind.  Accordingly  he 
turned  again  to  Jimmy,  and  with  a  much  soi'tened 
tone  addressed  him  as  follows ;— - 

"Come,  Jimmy,  my  son,  set  down  and  cat  your 
supper,  that's  a  good  boy.  You  shouldn't  go  away 
without  asking  your  mother  or  me ;  but  you'll  try  to 
remember  next  time,  won't  you  ?" 

Jimmy  and  his  mother  were  both  somewhat 
soothed  by  this  well-timed  suavity,  and  the  boy  took 
his  seat  at  the  table. 

"Now,  pa,"  said  Miss  Jerusha  Brown,  "you  //•/// 
go  over  and  see  about  having  a  singing-school,  won't 
you?  I  want  to  go  dreadfully  I" 

"Oh,  I  can't  do  anything  about  that,"  said  the 
Squire;  "  it'll  cost  a  good  deal  of  moiu-y,  and  I  can't 
afford  it.  And  he-ides,  there's  no  n>e  at  all  in  it. 
You  can  sing  enough  now,  any  of  you  ;  you  are  sing 
ing  half  your  time." 

"  There,"  said  Mrs.  .Crown.  "  that's  just  the  way. 
Our  children  will  never  have  a  chance  to  he  anything 
as  long  as  they  live.  Other  fo'ks'  children  have  a 


c   il  KI8TO  P  ii  1   i:     OBOTOH  ET.  81 

chance  to  go  to  singing-schools,  and  to  see  young 
company,  and  to  be  something  in  tin-  world.  Here's 
our,Icru-ha  has  got  to  be  in  her  twenty-fifth  year 
now,  and  it'  she's  6V6T  going  t«»  have  young  company, 
and  have  a  chance  to  be  anything,  she  must  have  it 
soon;  for  she'll  be  past  the  time  bime-by  for  sich 
thinirs.  Ti>n't  as  if  we  was  poor  and  couldn't  afford 
it ;  for  you  kn.>w,  Mr.  I.ruwn,  you  pay  the  largest  tax 
of  anyb.Mly  in  the  town,  and  can  afford  to  give  the 
children  a  chance  to  be  something  in  the  world,  as 
well  as  n<>t.  And  as  for  living  in  this  kind  of  way 
any  l-.n^r,  I've  no  notion  ..n't." 

Mrs.  Brown  knew  how  to  follow  up  an  advantage. 
She  had  got  her  husband  upon  the  ivtivat  in  the  OBflef 
a   moment   before,  in   reference   to  Jimmy's  al>-< 
and  the  closing  part  of  this  last  speech  was  utt- 
with  an  energy  and  determination,  of  which  Squire 
•A-n   knew    to<»   well    the    import  to    di> regard    it. 
:ng   that   a   storm  was  brewing   that   would 
biirM    upon    his   head    with    tremendous    power,    if  he 
lake  care  to  avoid  it,  he^iiiiished  his   >npper 
with  all  convenient  despatch,  rose  from  the  table,  put 
v-  -_Teat  coat  and  hat,  and   marched  deliberately 
over  to  Gibbs'  tavern.     Mrs.  Brown  knew  at  oa 
that  she  had  won   the  VI  ..d   that   they  should 


82  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

have  a  singing-school.  The  children  also  had  become 
so  well  versed  in  the  science  of  their  mother's  tactics, 
that  they  understood  the  same  thing,  and  immediately 
began  to  discuss  matters  preparatory  to  attending  the 
school. 

Miss  Jerusha  said  she  must  have  her  new  calico 
gown  made  right  up  the  next  day ;  and  her  mother 
said  she  should,  and  David  might  go  right  over  after 
Betsey  Davis  to  come  to  work  on  it  the  next 
morning. 

"  How  delightful  it  will  be  to  have  a  singing 
school,"  said  Miss  Jerusha  :  "  Jimmy,  what  sort  of  a 
looking  man  is  Mr.  Crotchet  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  slick  kind  of  a  looking  man,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"  Is  he  a  young  man,  or  a  married  man  ?"  inquired 
Miss  Jerusha. 

"  11  o  !  married?  no  ;  I  guess  he  isn't,"  said  Jimmy, 
"  I  don't  believe  he's  more  than  twenty  years  old." 

"  Poh ;  I  don't  believe  that  story,"  said  Jerusha, 
a  singing-master  must  be  as  much  as  twenty-fire 
years  old,  1  know !  How  is  he  dressed  ?  Isn't  ho 
dressed  quite  genteel  ?" 

"  Oh,  he's  dressed  pretty  slick,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  Well,  that's  what  makes  him  look  so  young,"  said 


OBBIBTOF  i!  }•'.  i:     <    BOTOB  KT.  83 

Mis-  Jerusha  :  "  I   dare  say  he's  as  much  as  twenty- 
five  years  old  ;  don't  V.MI  tliink  he  is,  mother?" 

••Well,  I  think  iffl  pretty  likely  IK-  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown ;  "  singing-masters  are  generally  about  that  age." 

u  I  low  does  he  look?"  said  Miss  Jenisha;  "is  lie 
handsome?" 

u  He's  handsome  enough,"  said  Jimmy,  "only  he's 
got  a  red  head  and  freekly  lace." 

"  Now,  Jim,  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say.  You 
are  saying  this,  only  just  to  plague  me." 

To  understand  the  propriety  «»f  this  last  remark  of 
Miss  Jenisha,  the  reader  >h«>uld  be  informed,  that  for 
tin.'  last  H-n  years  she  had  looked  upon  every  young 
man  wh<>  came  into  the  place,  as  her  own  peculiar 
pn>perty.  And  in  all  cases,  in  order  t«»  nbtain  pos 
session  of  her  at<'iv-ai<l  pr.iperty,  slu-  had  adnptrd 
prompt  measures,  and  pursued  them  with  a  diligence 
worthy  of  all  praise. 

I  ain't   neither,"  said  Jimmy,  "I  say  he  has 
gnt  a  red  head  and  treekly  lace." 

M  I.;.   I  i    Mrs.   Brown,  "what   if  lie  has? 

<l'>n't  l.M.k  bad;  and  one  of  the 
hand-i'im-<t  men  that  ever  I  »  e,  had  a  Ireckly  face." 

"Well,  Jimmy,  Imw  lariro  is  he  ?  Is  he  a  tall  man 
•  T  a  short  man  ?"  said  Miss  Jeruslui. 


84 

"Why,  he  isn't  bigger  n»un<l  than  I  he,"  said 
Jimmy;  "and  I  guess  IK-  i>ift  «[uiU'  a-  tall  as  a  hay- 
pole  ;  but  he's  so  tall  he  has  to  stoop  when  he  goes 
into  the  door." 

So  far  from  adding  to  the  shock,  which  Miss  Jeru- 
sha's  nerves  had  already  received  from  the  account  of 
the  red  head  and  freckly  face,  this  last  piece  of  intel 
ligence  was  on  the  whole  rather  consolatory ;  for  she 
lacked  but  an  inch  and  a  half  of  six  feet  in  height 
herself. 

"  Well,  Jimmy,"  said  Miss  Jerusha,  "  when  he 
stands  up,  take  him  altogether,  isn't  he  a  good-looking 
young  man  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said  Jimmy  ; 
"  he  looks  the  most  like  the  tongs  in  the  riddle,  of 
anything  I  can  think  of: 

1  Long  logs  and  crooked  thighs, 
Little  head  and  no  eyes.' " 

"  There,  Jim,  you  little  plague,"  said  Miss  Jerusha, 
"  you  shall  go  right  off  to  bed  if  you  don't  leave  off 
your  nonsense.  I  won't  hear  another  word  of  it." 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  won't,"  said  Jimmy,  "  it's  all 
true,  every  word  of  it." 

"  What!  then  the  si  nirin  ^-master  hasn't  got  no  eyes, 
has  he  ?"  said  Miss  Jerusha  ;  "  that's  a  pretty  story." 


.   ii  i:  I  s  TO  r  !i  1:  B    OBOTOH1  85 

"  i  don't  mean  he  hasn't  got  no  eyes  at  all,"  said 
Jimmy,  a  only  his  eyes  are  dreadful  little,  and  you 
can't  see  but  one  of  'em  to  time  neither,  they're 
twi>ted  round  so." 

"  A  little  cross-eyed,  I  s'pose,"  said  Mrs.  Brown, 
"that's  all;  I  don't  think  that  hurta  tlie  looks  of  a 
man  a  bit ;  it  only  makes  him  look  a  little  sharper." 

AVhile  those  things  were  transpiring  at  Mr.  Brown's, 
matters  of  weight  and  importance  were  being 
•  1  at  the  tavern.  About  a  dozen  of  the 
neighbors  had  collected  there  early  in  the  evening, 
and  every  one,  as  soon  as  he  found  that  Mr.  Christo 
pher  Crotchet  from  Quavertown  was  in  the  village, 
wa.<  for  having  a  singing-school  f« >rth with,  cost  what 
it  would.  They  accordingly  proceeded  at  once  to 
ascertain  Mr.  Crotchet's  term-.  Hi-  pi< ip«»sal>  \\  • 
to  keep  twenty  evenings  for  twenty  dollars  and 

ind,"  or  for  thirty  and  board  himself.     TL 
to  In-  kept  t!  'MiiL^   in    the  week.       A    -;:Ucrip- 

tioii-paper  W;L<  opened,  and  the  sum  of  lit'leen   dollars 
was  at  last  made   up.     But  that   was  t!  I   to 

which   they   could   go;  not  another  dollar  could  be 
d     Much  anxiety  was  now  felt  for  the  arrival  of 
S.piire   Brown;    for  the   question   of   school  or  no 
school  depended  entirely  on  him. 


86  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"Squire  Brown's  got  money  enough,"  said  Mr. 
Gibbs,  "  and  if  lie  only  lias  the  will,  we  shall  have  a 
school." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Mr.  Jones;  "if  Mrs.  Brown 
has  the  will,  we  shall  have  a  school,  let  the  Squire's 
will  be  what  it  may." 

Before  the  laugh  occasioned  by  this  last  remark 
had  fully  subsided,  Squire  Brown  entered,  much  to 
the  joy  of  the  whole  company. 

"Squire  Brown,  Pin  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr. 
Gibbs;  "shall  I  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Christopher 
Crotchet,  singing-master  from  Quavertown  ?" 

The  Squire  was  a  very  short  man,  somewhat 
inclined  to  corpulence,  and  Mr.  Crotchet,  according 
to  Jimmy's  account,  was  not  quite  as  tall  as  a  hay- 
pole ;  so  that  by  dint  of  the  Squire's  throwing  his 
head  back  and  looking  up,  and  Mr.  Crotchet's  cant 
ing  his  head  on  one  side  in  order  to  bring  one  eye  to 
bear  on  the  Squire,  the  parties  were  brought  within 
each  other's  field  of  vision.  The  Squire  made  a  bow, 
which  was  done  by  tlirnwing  his  head  upward, 
and  Mr.  Crotchet  returned  the  compliment  by 
•nding  his  arm  downward  to  the  Squire  and  shak 
ing  hands. 

the  ceremony  of  introduction  was  over,  Mr. 


CHRIBTnl'H  K  K      OBOfeOHET.  87 

(iihbs  laid  tlio  whole  matter  before  Mr.  Brown, 
showed  him  the  subscription-paper,  and  told  him 
they  were  all  depending  upon  him  to  decide  whet 
they  should  have  a  singing^school  or  not.  Squire 
Brown  put  on  his  spectacles  and  read  the  subscrip- 
ti»  in-paper  over  two  or  three  times,  till  he  fully  under 
stood  the  terms,  and  the  deficiency  in  the  amount 
subscribi-d.  Then  without  saying  a  word  ho  took  a 
and  deliberately  subscribed  five  dollars.  That 
bled  the  business;  the  desired  sum  was  raised,  and 
the  school  was  t»  go  ahead.  It  was  agreed  that 
ii  -hnuld  commence  on  the  following  evening,  and 
that  Mr.  Crotchet  should  board  with  Mr.  Gibbs  one 
k,  with  the  Squire  the  next,  and  so  go  round 
through  the  neighborhood. 

( >n  the  follnwing  day  there  was  no  small  commotion 

!ILT  the  y«>iiiiir  folk-;  of  the  village,  in  makinir  i 
paratinn  tor  the  evening  seliool.     Ne\v  sinirinir-books 
Were  purchased,  dresses  were  prepared.  curlin«r-t«" 
and  crimpini:-in>ns  were  put  in  rei|uUirio:i,  and  early 
in  the  e  'if  l..n_«r  cliamber  in  Gibbs'  tavern, 

which    WM   called   l>y  way  of   0bd  "  the  hall," 

was  well  filled  by  youth  of  b.'ih  <cxe-,  tin-  <>ld  folks 
not  being  allowed  to  attend  that  evening  lest  the 
v  IM,V>  and  jrals"  should  be  ditlident  about  "sound- 


88 

ing  the  notes."  A  range  of  long  narrow  tables  was 
placed  round  three  sides  of  the  hall,  with  benches 
behind  them,  upon  which  the  youth  were  seated.  A 
singing-book  and  a  candle  were  shared  by  two,  all 
round  the  room,  till  you  came  to  Miss  Jerusha  Brown, 
who  had  taken  the  uppermost  seat,  and  monopolized 
a  whole  book  and  a  whole  candle  to  her  own  use. 
Betsey  Buck,  a  lively,  reckless  sort  of  a  girl  of  sixteen, 
who  cared  for  nobody  nor  nothing  in  this  world,  but 
was  full  of  frolic  and  fun,  had  by  chance  taken  a  seat 
next  to  Miss  Jerusha.  Miss  Betsey  had  a  slight  in 
ward  turn  of  one  eye,  just  enough  to  give  her  a 
roguish  look,  that  comported  well  with  her  character. 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  entrance  of  the 
master,  many  a  suppre-sed  laugh,  and  now  and  then 
an  audible  giggle,  passed  round  the  room,  the  mere 
ebullitions  of  buoyant  spirits  and  contagious  mirth, 
without  aim  or  object.  Miss  Jerusha,  who  was  try 
ing  to  behave  her  jiretiii-.-t,  repeatedly  eluded  their 
rudeness,  and  moiv  than  once  told  Miss  Betsey  .Buck, 
that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  t«»  be  laughing  so  much  ; 
"for  what  would  Mr.  Crotchet  think,  if  he  should 
come  in  and  iind  them  all  of  I 

After  a  while  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Christo 
pher  Crotchet  entered.  He  bent  his  body  slightly, 


OHBISTOFHB1     <    BOTC  n  Bl  . 

as  he  passed  the  door,  to  prevent  a  concussion  of  his 

head  against  the  lintel,  and  then  walked  very  erect 
into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  made  a  short  speech 
to  his  class.  His  grotesque  appearance  caused  a  Alight 
tittering  round  the  room,  and  Miss  Betsey  was  even 
guilty  of  an  incipient  audible  laugh,  which,  however, 
had  the  tact  so  far  to  turn  into  a  cough  as  to  sa\  a 
appearances.  Still  it  was  observed  by  Miss  Jerusha, 
who  told  her  airain  in  a  low  whisper  that  she  ought 
to  In-  ashamed,  and  added  that  "  Mr.  Crotchet  was  a 
most  splendid  man  :  a  beautiful  man." 

:•    Mr.    (  had    made    his    introductory 

speech,  he  proceeded  to  try  the  voices  of  his  pu: 
making  i'aeh  one  alone  follow  him  in  rising  and  fall- 
passed  round  without  difficulty  till 
he  came  to  Miss  Betsey  Buck.     She  rather  hi-itated 
to  let  her  voice  be  heard  alone  ;  but   the  master  told 
her   she  must   sound,  and   holding   \i\<  lu-ad    do\vn  SO 
close    to  hers    that    they    almost    met,  he    comim-. 
pouring  his  taw,  sole,  law,  into  her  ear.      MUs  Betsey 
drew  back  a  little,  but  followed  with  a  low  a: 
what    tremulous  voice,  till  she   had  sounded    tJ 
or    four    notes,    when    her    risible    mtUC  the 

ma-' cry,  and  she  burst  out  in  an  unrestrained  tit  of 
hter. 


90  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

The  master  looked  confused  and  cross ;  and  Miss 
Jerusha  even  looked  crosser  than  the  master.  She 
again  reproached  Miss  Betsey  for  her  rudeness,  and 
told  her  in  an  emphatic  whisper,  which  was  intended 
more  especially  for  the  master's  ear,  "  that  such  con 
duct  was  shameful,  and  if  she  couldn't  behave  better 
she  ought  to  stay  at  home." 

3  Jeru>ha's  turn  to  sound  came  next,  and  she 
leaned  her  head  full  half-way  across  the  table  to  meet 
the  master's,  and  sounded  the  notes  clear  through, 
three  or  four  times  over,  from  bottom  to  top  and 
from  top  to  bottom ;  and  sounded  them  with  a 
loudness  and  trengtk  fully  c<pial  to  that  of  the 
master. 

AVI  ion  the  process  of  sounding  the  voices  separately 
bad  been  gone  through  with,  they  were  called  upon 
to  sound  together  ;  and  before  the  close  of  the  eveninir 
they  were  allowed  to  commence  the  notes  of  some 
tunes.  It  is  unnecessary  here  to  give  a  detailed 
account  of  the  progress  that  was  made,  or  to  attempt 
to  describe  the  jargon  of  strange  sounds,  with  which 
fiibbs'  hall  echoed  that  night.  Suffice  it  to  My,  that 
the  proficiency  of  the  pupils  was  so  great,  that  on  the 
evening,  or  when  the  school  was  half  through, 
parents  were  permitted  to  be  present,  and  were 


CHRISTOPHER     CROT<    H  91 

delighted  to  hear  their  children  HII^  Old  Ilnndtvd, 
Mear,  Si.  Martin's,  N.-rthtield,  and  Hallow^H,  with  so 
much  accuracy,  that  tho>o  who  km-w  the  tinio-,  could 
ivadily  toll,  ovory  tiino.  which  0110  was  being  per 
formed.  ^Ir.-.  Hi-own  was  almost  in  ecstasies  at 
tho  performance,  and  sat  the  whole  evening  an,l 
looked  at  Jorusha,  who  SUIILC  witli  ^roa:  D6H 

an<l    with    a  v«»iee    t:ir    altove    all     the    rest.       Even 
Squire   Brown  himself   wa^   so    much  softened    that 
•:iiiir,   that  his  face  w.-re  a  sort  of  smile,  and   he 
told  his  wife  "he    didn't   irrud^e  his  live  dollars,  a 

bit* 

Tlie  school   went   on  swimmingly.     Mr.  C-r^ 

,;me  the  li..ii  of  tlie  village;  and  Mi<s  .loruslui 
Browii  uth<^uirht  he  improved  iiju.n  :ic«|iiaintaiice 
astoni-hiuirly."  Great  preparation  was  made  at  S.juire 
Brown's  fi.r  the  imjiurtant  week  <»f  hoart'.ini:  the>inix- 
inLT-ma-ter.  Tliey  outdid  all  the  village  in  the  <juan- 
and  \-ai-lety  nf  their  eataMrs,  and  at  every  meal 
Miss  Jcrusha  was  particularly  assidu«»u.-.  in  jdacinir 
all  the  ir«'M(l  thinir-  in  the  nei^hborh...,.!  of  Mr.  Crot 
chet'.-  j.late.  In  fact,  so  honntit'ully  and  regularly  was 
Mr.  Crotchet  stufl'cd  during  the  week,  that  liis  lank 
form  l.ogai:  t«.  MMDQfl  a  ;  blfl  fulness.  He  evi 

dently  seeiiu-«l  \crv  fond  of  hi-  hoard! nir-phice,  eepe- 


92  'WAY    D  o  w  iT  ~E  A  8  T . 

cially  at  meal  time ;  and  made  himself  so  much  at 
home,  that  Mrs.  Brown  and  Jerusha  were  in  a  state 
of  absolute  felicity  the  whole  week.  It  was  true  ho 
spent  two  evenings  abroad  during  the  week,  and  it 
was  reported  that  one  of  them  was  passed  at  Mr. 
Muck's.  But  Miss  Jerusha  would  not  believe  a  word 
•  it'  such  a  story.  She  said  "  there  was  no  young  folks 
at  Mr.  Buck's  except  Betsey,  and  >he  was  sure  Mr. 
Crotchet  was  a  man  of  more  sense  than  to  spend  his 
evenings  with  such  a  wild,  rude  thing  a-  Mct>ey 
.Muck.'7  Still,  however,  the  report  gave  her  a  little 
uneasiness;  and  when  it  was  ascertained,  that  (lur 
ing  the  week  on  which  Mr.  Crotchet  boarded  at  Mr. 
Buck's  he  spent  every  evening  at  home,  except  the 
three  devoted  to  the  singing-school,  Miss  Jerusha's 
uneasiness  evidently  increased.  She  resolved  to  make 
a  desperate  effort  to  counteract  these  imi.-ward  influ 
ences,  and  to  h-ach  Mi  Muck  not  to  interil-re 
with  other  folk's  concerns.  For  this  purpo-.- 

a  grand  evening  parly,  and  invite;!  all  the  young 
folks  of  the  village,  except  Miss  Buck,  who  was  point 
edly  left  out.  The  treat  was  elaborate  for  a  country 
village,  and  "Miss  -lern-ha  wa<  uncommonly  assiduous 
in  her  attentions  to  Mr.  Crotchet  during  the  evening. 
But  to  her  inexpressible  surprise  and  chagrin,  about 


CH  RIBTo  I-  H  KK      CROTCH! 

eight  o'clock,  Mr.  Crotchet  ].ut  «m  his  hat  and  great 
and  l>ade  the  company  good  night.  Mrs.  Brown 
looked  very  l»lue,  ami  Miss  Jerusha's  nerves  were  in 
a  state  of  high  excitement.  What  could  it  mean? 
She  would  i:ive  anything  in  tlio  world  t->  know  w; 
he  had  gone.  She  ran  np  into  the  chamhcr  and 
looked  out  in  mi  thf  \vindow.  Tlie  night  was  ratlu-r 
dark,  hut  slio  fancied  she  saw  him  making  his  way 
toward  "MY.  1  .nek's.  The  company  for  the  remainder 
<.f  the  evening  hail  rather  a  dull  time;  and  Miss 
.lerusha  passed  almost  a  sleepless  night. 

The  next  evening  Miss  Jernsha  was  early  at  the 
Hniring-x'h'Hil.  She  t«">k  her  seat  witli  a  di-e«m-»late 
air,  ••pi-ned  her  singing-l»n,.k  and  OOHUH0DOed  singing 
Hallnwell  in  the  t'.»ll.»winir  w.»rd<  : 

"  As  on  Borne  lonely  building's  top, 

Tin'  sparrow  t<-lls  II«T  ni«>aii. 
Far  from  tin*  t'Mits  of  joy  and  hope, 
I  git  and  grieve  al<> 

OTI  t'-rmer  .-•rra-5'»n<.  when  the  scholars  were 
MiiirinL:  liet-'i-e  >r-h«»nl  c« >ninience(].  the  ni"inent  the 
ma-ter  <>j»ene«l  the  door  they  hn.kc  «->tV  -1  B  if 

they  were   in   the  mid<t   <>t'  a  tune.      P.ut   now,   when 
the    ina-ter  entereil.    Mi-s   .lern-ha   kept   OO 
She  went  through  the  whole  tune  after   Mr. 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


came  in,  and  went  back  and  repeated  the  latter  half 
of  it  with  a  loud  and  full  voice,  which  caused  a  laugh 
among  the  scholars,  and  divers  streaks  of  red  to  pass 
over  the  master's  face. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening's  exercises  Miss  Jeru- 
>hu  hurried  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  watched 
the  movements  of  the  master.  She  perceived  lie 
AVI  'lit  out  directly  after  Betsey  Buck,  and  she  hastened 
after  them  with  becoming  speed.  She  contrived  t«» 
get  between  Miss  Buck  and  the  master  as  they 
walked  along  the  road,  and  kept  Mr.  Crotchet  in  close 
conversation  with  her,  or  rather  kept  herself  in  el<>-<' 
conversation  with  Mr.  Crotchet,  till  they  came  to  tho 
corner  that  turned  down  to  Mr.  Buck's  house.  lit  r.- 
Mr.  Crotchet  left  her  somewhat  abruptly,  and  walked 
by  the  side  of  Miss  Betsey  towards  Mr.  Buck'-. 
This  was  more  than  Miss  Jerusha's  nerves  could  well 
bear.  She  wa<  under  too  much  excitement  to  pro 
ceed  on  her  way  home.  She  stopped  and  gazed  after 
-the  couple  as  they  receded  from  her;  and  as  their 
forms  became  indistinct  in  the  darkness  of  the  ni-ht, 
-he  turned  and  followed  them,  just  keeping  them  in 
view  till  they  reached  the  house.  The  door  opened, 
and  to  her  inexpressible  horror,  they  both  went  in. 
It  was  past  ten  o'clock,  too  !  She  was  greatly 


Clli:  I  >  i  o  !'  ii  i.  u     «    U"  i  «    B«T, 

puz/.led.  The  atl'air  was  entirely  inexplicable  t<>  her. 
It  e.-uld  not  be,  i.  that  lu-  would  Mop  many 

minutes,  and  .-he  waited  t«>  see  the  result.  Proently 
a  liirht  ai»[>eare<l  in  the  "  t'.nv-r«  '"in  :"  aiul  tnuu  the 
11K.11(,  that  liirlit,  a  lire  WM  evidently  kin<lle.l 

tin-re.  Mi-  .Ii-ru<h;i  appn-aclieil  the  house  and 
ivr.'imnitred.  Slie  tried  K.  l««nk  in  at  the  window, 
hut  a  thiek  curtain  etlVn-tually  pivveiited  lu-r  In .111 
M-eiiiir  anything  within.  The  curtain  did  not 
•  piite  to  the  top  of  the  window,  and  slu-  thought  >he 
>aw  the  shadows  of  two  persons  before  th> 
thrown  airainst  the  ceilinir.  She  wa<  determined  hy 
>..nn-  mi-ails  or  Other  to  know  the  woist  of  it.  Slu- 
boked  round  the  door-yard  and  found  a  lon.ir  piece  of 
h..sird.  She  thouirht  hy  placin.ir  thi>  against  tlie  house 
hv  the  side  of  the  window,  she  niiirht  he  al>le  to 
climb  up  and  look  over  the  top  ..f  the  curtain.  The 
board  was  accordin-ly  nii-ed  ODOH6  end  and  placed 
caivfully  hy  the  ndfl  of  the  window,  and  Mi-  Jar*- 
sha  cair^-rly  c"mnu-nce«l  the  ta-k  .  .f  climbing.  She 
had  n-acht-d  the  top  <.f  tlie  curtain  and  cast  ono 
Ldance  into  the  room,  where,  sun-  ciiouirh,  >lu-  b 
Mr.  Ci-..t<-lu-t  >cated  dm  by  the  side  of  Miss  Betsey. 
At  this  interesting  moment,  from  some  cause  or  other, 
either  from  her  own  trembling  t'<>r  -he  was  exceed- 


96  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

ingly  agitated,  or  from  the  board  not  being  properly 
supported  at  the  bottom,  it  slipped  and  canted,  and  in 
an  instant  one  half  of  the  window  was  dashed  with  a 
tremendous  crash  into  the  room. 

Miss  Jerusha  fell  to  the  ground,  but  not  being 
much  injured  by  the  fall,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
ran  with  the  fleetness  of  a  wild  deer.  The  door 
opened,  and  out  came  Mr.  Crotchet  and  Mr.  Buck, 
and  started  in  the  race.  They  thought  they  had  a 
glimpse  of  some  person  running  up  the  road  when 
they  first  came  out,  and  Mr.  Crotchet's  long  legs 
measured  off  the  ground  witli  remarkable  velocity. 
But  the  fright  had  added  so  essentially  to  Miss  Jeru- 
sha's  powers  of  locomotion,  that  not  even  Mr. 
Crotchet  con] <r overtake  her,  and  her  pursuers  S<»<>M 
lost  sight  of  her  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and 
gave  up  the  chase  and  returned  home. 

Miss  Jerusha  was  not  seen  at  the  singinir-srl )..,,] 
after  this,  and  Mrs.  Brown  said  she  stayed  at  home 
because  she  had  a  cough.  Notwithstanding  tin-re 
were  many  rumors  and  surmises  afloat,  and  some 
slanderous  insinuations  thrown  out  against  Miss  Jeru 
sha  Brown,  yet  it  was  never  ascertained  by  the 
neighbors,  for  a  certainty,  who  it  was  that  demolished 
Mr.  Buck's  window. 


rilBISTOrHER     OKOTOIIET. 

( Mir  item  larther  remains  to  be  added  to  this 
vmtahle  hi>t..rv  ;  and  that  is,  that  in  three  month- 
in  nil  this  iiu'iii..rai»h'  niirht,  Miss  Betsey  Buck  becanu; 
Crotcliet  of  Quavertown. 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


CIIAPTEK  Y. 

POLLY    GRAY    AND   THE   DOCTORS. 

IT  was  a  dark,  and  rainy  night  in  June,  when  Deacon 
Gray,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  drove  his 
h<  »rse  and  wagon  up  to  the  door,  on  his  return  from 
market. 

"Oh  dear,  Mr.  Gray!"  exclaimed  his  wife,  as  she 
met  him  at  the  door,  "  I'm  dreadful  glad  you've  come ; 
Polly's  so  sick,  I'm  afraid  she  won't  live  till  mornin', 
if  something  ain't  done  for  her." 

"Polly  is  always  ailing,'"  said  the  deacon,  deliber 
ately  ;  "  I  guess  it's  only  some  of  her  old  aches  and 
}>:ims.  Just  take  this  box  of  sugar  in;  it  has  been 
riiining  on  it  this  hour." 

"  Well,  do  come  right  in,  Mr.  Gray,  for  you  don't 
know  what  a  desput  case  she  is  in ;  I  daren't  leave  her 
a  minute." 

"  You  are  always  scared  half  to  death,"  said  the 
deacon,  "if  anything  ails  Polly;  but  yon  kn«»w  she 
always  gets  over  it  again.  Here's  coffee  and  tea  and 


PC  I.  I.  Y      OBAT       AN!)      TIIK      DOCTORS.         99 

MBM  other  notion  rolled  up  in  thl  handing  her 

another  bundle  to  carry  int<>  tin.-  li- 

"  Well,  but  Mr.  Gray,  don't  pray  stop  for  bundles 
or  nothiif  d  '•  must  g«>  right  over  after  Doctor 

Longley,  and  get  him  here  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  Oh,  if  it's  only  Doctor  Longley  she  wants,"  said 
the  deacon  carelessly,  "  I  guess  she  aint  so  dangerous, 
after  all." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Gray,  just  because  Doctor  Longley  i-  a 
11:  man  and  ahnut  Polly's  age,  that  you  should 
make  such  an  unteelin'  expression  as  that,  I  think  is 
too  bad." 

The  deacon  turned  away  without  making  a  reply, 
and  hciran  to  in»ve  the  harness  from  the  horse. 

"Mr.  Gray,  ain't  you  ^MH^  after  the  doctor?"  said 
•ay,  with  increa>inir  impatience. 

M  I'm  ttr«)in«r  t«»  turn  the  h-.rse  into  the  pasture,  and 
then  I'll  cnnie  in  and  see  about  it,"  said  :  "n. 

A  loud  ^roan  from  I'nlly  drew  Mrs.  Gray  hastily 
int..  the  house.  'I'he  fattOH  led  his  h«.rse  a  quarter 
Of  a  mile  t«.  the  pa-hire  ;  h-t  down  the  bars  and  turn 
ed  him  in:  put  all  the  bars  carefully  up;  hunted 
n.und  and  t'.und  a  stick  to  drive  in  as  a  wedge  to 
•  p  bar  :  D  to  -ce  that 

the  doors  were  all  closed  .  nM  of  dry  -traw 


100  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

and  threw  it  into  the  pig-pen ;  called  the  dog  from  his 
kennel,  patted  him  on  his  head,  and  went  into  tlir 
house. 

"  I'm  afraid  she's  dying,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  as  the 
deacon  entered. 

"  You  are  always  scared  half  out  of  your  wits,"  said 
the  deacon,  "if  there's  anything  the  matter.  I'll 
come  in  as  soon  as  I've  took  off  my  coat  and  boots 
and  put  on  some  dry  ones." 

Mrs.  Gray  ran  back  to  attend  upon  Polly  ;  but  be 
fore  the  deacon  had  got  ready  to  enter  the  room,  Mrs. 
Gray  screamed  again  with  the  whole  strength  of  her 
lungs. 

"  Mr.  Gray,  Mr.  Gray,  do  make  haste,  she's  in  a  fit." 

This  was  the  first  sound  that  had  given  the  deacon 
anv  uneasiness  about  the  matter.  He  had  been  ac 
customed  for  years  to  hear  his  wife  worry  about 
Polly,  and  had  heard  her  predict  her  death  so  often 
from  very  slight  illness,  that  he  had  come  to  regard 
such  scenes  and  such  predictions  with  as  little  atten 
tion  as  he  did  the  rain  that  pattered  against  the  win 
dow.  But  the  word  fit  was  something  lie  had  never 
heard  applied  in  these  cases  before,  and  the  sound  of 
it  gave  him  a  strange  feeling  of  appivhen>i<m.  II- 
had  just  thrown  off  his  boots  and  put  his  feet  into  dry 


POLLY      GRAY      A  N  I  >      illi.      ixM'i'OEk.       f<>! 


shoes,  and  held  a  dry  coat  in  his  hand,  when  this  last 
appeal  came  to  In's  car  and  caused  him  actually  to 
hasten  into  the  room. 

"Polly,  what's  the  matter  now?"  >aid  the  <leao"ii, 
nning  to  be  somewhat  agitated,  as  he  approached 
the  bedside. 

Polly  was  in  violent  spasms,  and  heeded  not  the 
inquiry.  The  deacon  took  hold  of  her  arm,  and 
repeated  the  question  more  earnestly  and  in  a  tender 
tone. 

"  You  may  as  well  speak  to  the  dead,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray  ;  "  she's  past  hearing  or  speaking." 

The  deacon's  eyes  looked  wild,  and  his  face  grew 
very  long. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  how  sick  she  was  when  I 
first  got  home?"  said  the  deacon  with  a  look  of 
rebuke. 

"I  did  tell  you  when  you  first  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  sharply,  "and  yon  didn't  take  no  notice  on 
it." 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  anything  about  1m  \v 

."  said  the  deacon  ;  "  \»\\  only  spoke  jest  as  yon 
DMd  t«»,  when  she  wa-n't  hardly  sick  at  all." 

The  subject  here  seemed  to  subside  by  mutual 
consent,  and  both  stood  with  their  eyes  tixed  up«»n 


1(  >2  '  W  AY      DOWN      EAST. 

Polly,  who  was  apparently  struggling  in  the  fierce 
agonies  of  death.  In  a  few  minutes,  however,  she 
came  out  of  the  spasm,  breathed  comparatively  easy, 
and  lay  perfectly  quiet.  The  deacon  spoke  to  her 
again.  She  looked  up  with  a  wild  delirious  look,  but 
made  no  answer. 

"  I'll  go  for  the  doctor,"  said  the  deacon,  "  It  may 
be  he  can  do  something  for  her,  though  she  looks  to 
me  as  though  it  was  gone  goose  with  her." 

Saying  this,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  started. 
Having  half  a  mile  to  go,  and  finding  the  doctor  in 
bed,  it  was  half  an  hour  before  he  returned  with  Doc 
tor  Longley  in  his  company.  In  the  meantime  Mrs. 
Gray  had  called  in  old  Mrs.  Livermore,  who  lived 
next  door,  and  they  had  lifted  Polly  up  and  put  a 
clean  pillow  upon  the  bed,  and  a  clean  cap  on  her 
head,  and  had  been  round  and  "  slicked  up  "  the 
room  a  little,  for  Mrs.  Livermore  said,  "  Doctor  Long- 
ley  was  such  a  nice  man  she  always  loved  to  see 
things  look  tidy  where  he  was  coming  to." 

The  deacon  came  in  and  hung  his  hat  up  behind 
the  door,  and  Doctor  Longley  followed  with  his  hat 
in  his  hand  and  a  small  pair  of  saddle-bags  on  his 
arm.  Mrs.  Gray  stood  at  one  side  of  the  bed,  and 
Mrs.  Livermore  at  the  other,  and  the  doctor  laid 


POLLY      GRAY      AND      Till;      DOCTORS.       lU3 

his  hat  i  idle-bags  on  the  table  that  stood  by 

the  window,  and  stepped  immediately  to  the  bed 
side. 

"Miss  Gray,  are  you  sick?"  said  the  doctor, 
taking  the  hand  of  the  patient. 

No  answer  or  look  from  the  patient  gave  any 
indication  that  she  heard  the  question. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  ill  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Ever  since  mornin',"  said  Mrs.  Gray.  "  She  got 
up  with  a  head-ache,  jest  after  her  father  went  away 
to  market,  and  smart  pains  inside,  and  she's  been 
growing  worse  all  day." 

"  And  what  have  you  given  her  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Nothing,  but  arb-drink,"  said  Mrs.  Gray ;  "  when 
ever  she  felt  worse,  I  made  her  take  a  good  deal  of 
arb-drink,  because  that,  you  know,  is  always  good, 
doctor.  And  besides,  when  it  can't  do  no  good,  it 
v.-.mld  do  im  hurt." 

"  But  what  sort  of  drinks  have  you  given  her  ?" 
said  the  doctor. 

"  "Well,  I  give  her  most  all  sorts,  for  we  had  a 
plenty  of  'em  in  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  (iray.  "I 
give  her  sage,  and  pi-j.j.i'rmiiit,  and  sj.nivmint,  and 
caiiiiiH-niiilc',  and  j.cimvrvul,  and  nmtherwort,  and 
balm;  you  know,  balm  is  very  coolin',  doctor,  and 


104 

sometimes  sheM  he  very  hot,  and  then  I'd  make  her 
drink  a  good  dose  of  balm." 

"  Give  me  a  candle,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  deacon  brought  a  candle  and  held  it  over  the 
patent's  head.  The  doctor  opened  her  mouth  and 
examined  it  carefully  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  He 
felt  her  pulse  another  minute,  and  looked  again  into 
her  mouth. 

"  Low  pulse,  but  heavy  and  labored  respiration," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  What  do  you  think  ails  her  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gray. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  give  her  anything  to  help 
her  ?"  said  the  deacon,  anxiously. 

The  doctor  looked  very  grave,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
thoughtfully  on  the  patient  for  a  minute,  but  made  no 
reply  to  the  deacon's  question. 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  sooner  ?"  at  last  said 
the  doctor,  turning  to  Mrs.  Gray. 

"  Because  I  thought  my  arb-drink  would  help  her, 
and  so  I  kept  trying  it  all  day  till  it  got  to  be  dark, 
and  then  she  got  to  be  so  bad  I  didn't  dare  to  leave 
her  till  Mr.  Gray  got  home." 

"  It's  a  great  pity,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  from 
the  bed  to  the  table  and  opening  his  saddle-bags. 


POLLY  GRAY   A  N  I)  THK   DOCTORS.   105 

M  rriionsands  and  thousands  of  lives  are  lost  only  by 
delaying  to  send  for  medical  advice  till  it  is  too  late ; 
thou>ands  that  ini^ht  have  been  saved  as  well  as  not, 
if  only  taken  in  season." 

M  T.iit  doctor,  you  don't  think  it's  too  late  for  Polly, 
do  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gray. 

"I  think  her  case,  to  say  the  least,  is  extremely 
doubtful,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Her  appearance  is  very 
remarkable.  AVhatever  her  disease  is,  it  has  made 
such  progress,  and  life  is  so  nearly  extinct,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  tell  what  were  the  original  symptoms, 
and  consequently  what  applications  are  best  to  be 
mad'-." 

u  Well,  now,  doctor,"  said  Mr-.  Li\ vrm.nv.  U«KCOM 
me  for  spcakin'  ;  but  I'm  a  gm.d  deal  older  than  3 
are,  and  have  seen  a  great  deal  «»f  sickness  in  my 
day,  and  I've  hem  in  here  with  Polly  a  number  of 
time-  to-day,  and  sometimes  this  evening:,  and  I'm 
satiric •<!,  doctor,  there's  something  the  matter  of  her 
insides." 

"Undoubtedly,"    said    the   doctor,   looking   very 

This  new  hint  from  Mrs.   Livcrmore  seemed   to 
;  rs.  dray  new  hope,  and  she  appealed  again  to 
the  doctor. 


106 

"  Well,  now,  doctor,"  said  she,  "  don't  you  think 
Mrs.  Livermore  has  the  right  of  it  ?" 

"  Most  unquestionably,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  then,  doctor,  if  you  should  give  her  some 
thing  that's  pretty  powerful  to  operate  inwardly, 
don't  you  think  it  might  help  her  ?" 

"  It  might,  and  it  might  not,"  said  the  doctor ; 
"  the  powers  of  life  are  so  nearly  exhausted,  I  must 
tell  you  frankly  I  have  very  little  hope  of  being 
able  to  rally  them.  There  is  not  life  enough  left  to 
indicate  the  disease  or  show  the  remedies  that  are 
wanted.  Applications  now  must  be  made  entirely 
in  the  dark,  and  leave  the  effect  to  chance." 

At  this,  Mrs.  Livermore  took  the  candle  and  was 
proceeding  to  remove  it  from  the  room,  when  the 
doctor,  perceiving  her  mistake,  called  her  back. 
He  did  not  mean  to  administer  the  medicine  literally 
in  a  dark  room,  but  simply  in  a  state  of  darkness  and 
ignorance  as  to  the  nature  of  the  disease.  It  was  a 
very  strange  case  ;  it  was  certain  life  could  hold  out 
but  a  short  time  longer ;  he  felt  bound  to  do  some 
thing,  and  therefore  proceeded  to  prepare  such  appli 
cations  and  remedies  as  his  best  judgment  dictated. 
These  were  administered  without  confidence,  and 
their  effect  awaited  with  painful  solicitude,  lliey 


POLLY   OKAY   AND  Till-;   DOCTORS.   107 

either  produced  no  perceptible  effect  at  all,  or  very 
different  from  the  ordinary  iv.-ults  of  such  applica 
tions. 

"  I  should  like,"  said  Doctor  Longley  to  the  deacon, 
"  to  have  you  call  in  Doctor  Stubbs ;  this  is  a  very 
extraordinary  case,  and  I  should  prefer  that  some 
other  medical  practitioner  might  be  present." 

The  deacon  accordingly  hastened  to  call  Doctor 
Stubbs,  a  young  man  who  had  come  into  the  place  a 
a  short  time  before,  with  a  high  reputation,  but  not  a 
favorite  with  the  deacon  and  his  family,  on  account  of 
his  being  rather  fresh  from  college,  and  full  of  modern 
innovations. 

After  Doctor  Stubbs  had  examined  the  patient,  and 
made  various  inquiries  of  the  family,  he  and  Doctor 
Longley  held  a  brief  consultation.  Their  united  wis 
dom,  however,  was  not  sufficient  to  throw  any  light 
upon  the  case  or  to  afford  any  relief. 

"Have  you  thought  of  poison?"  said  Doctor 
Longley. 

"  Yes,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  "  but  there  are  certain 
indications  in  the  case,  which  forbid  that  altogether. 
Indeed.  1  can  t<.nn  n«»  satisfactory  opinion  about  it; 
it  is  the  most  anomalous  case  I  ever  k  i 

Before  their  conference  was  brought  to  a  close,  tho 


108 

deacon  called  them,  saying  he  believed  Polly  was  a 
going.  They  came  into  the  room  and  hastened  to 
the  bedside. 

"  Yes,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  looking  at  the  patient, 
"  those  are  dying  struggles ;  in  a  short  time  all  her 
troubles  in  this  life  will  be  over." 

The  patient  sunk  gradually  and  quietly  away,  and 
in  the  course  of  two  hours  after  the  arrival  of  Doctor 
Stubbs,  all  signs  of  life  were  gone. 

"  The  Lord's  will  be  done,"  said  the  deacon,  as  he 
stood  by  the  bed  and  saw  her  chest  heave  for  the  last 
time. 

Mrs.  Gray  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  room  with  her 
apron  to  her  face  weeping  aloud.  Old  Mrs.  Liver- 
more  and  two  other  females,  who  had  been  called  in 
during  the  night,  were  already  busily  employed  in 
preparing  for  laying  out  the  corpse. 

It  was  about  daybreak  when  the  two  doctors  left 
the  house  and  started  for  home. 

"Very  singular  case,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  who 
spoke  with  more  ease  and  freedom,  now  that  they 
were  out  of  the  way  of  the  afflicted  family.  "  We 
ought  not  to  give  it  up  so,  Doctor  ;  we  ought  to  follow 
this  case  up  till  we  ascertain  what  was  the  cause  of 
ner  death.  What  say  to  a  post  mortem  examination  ?" 


POLLY      GEAY      AND      TIM.      DOCTORS.       109 

"I  always  dislike  them,"  said  Doctor  Longley; 
"they  are  ugly  uncomfortable  jobs;  and  besides,  I 
dnubt  whether  the  deacon's  folks  would  consent  to  it." 

"  It  is  important  for  us,  as  well  as  for  the  cause  of 
the  science,7"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  "  that  something 
should  be  done  about  it.  We  are  both  young,  and  it 
may  have  Jin  injurious  bearing  upon  our  reputation 
if  we  are  not  able  to  give  any  explanation  of  the  case. 
I  consider  my  reputation  at  stake  as  well  as  yours,  as 
I  was  called  in  for  consultation.  There  will  doubt 
less  be  an  hundred  rumors  afloat,  and  the  older  phy 
sicians,  who  look  upon  us,  you  know,  with  rather  an 
evil  eye,  will  be  pretty  sure  to  lay  hold  of  the  matter 
and  turn  it  greatly  to  our  disadvantage,  if  we  cannot 
j-liMW  tacts  for  our  vindication.  The  deacon's  folks 

*t  consent,  and  you  had  better  go  down  after  bn 
.ind  have  a  talk  with  the  deacon  about  it." 

Doctor  Longley  felt  the  force  of  the  reasoning,  and 
consented  to  go.      Accordingly,  after  breakfast,  he 
returned  to  Deacon  Gray's,  and  kindly  offered  his 
ices,  if  there  was  any  assi>ian<v  he  could  ren-K-r 
in  inakinir   preparations  for  the  funeral.      The  de;i 
tMr    much   obliged    t<.  him,  but   didn't   know   a-  ti 
was  anything  f'-r    which  they  particularly  needed  his 
assi-  Tin-  doctor  then  1  Toadied  the  subject  of 


110 

the  very  sudden  and  singular  death  of  Polly,  and  how 
important  it  was  for  the  living  that  the  causes  of  such 
a  sudden  death  should,  if  possible,  be  ascertained,  and 
delicately  hinted  that  the  only  means  of  obtaining 
this  information,  so  desirable  for  the  benefit  of  the 
science  and  so  valuable  for  all  living,  was  by  open 
ing  and  examining,  the  body  after  death. 

At  this  the  deacon  looked  up  at  him  with  such  an 
awful  expression  of  holy  horror,  that  the  doctor  saw 
at  once  it  would  be  altogether  useless  to  pursue  the 
subject  further.  Accordingly,  after  advising,  on 
account  of  the  warm  weather  and  the  patient  dying 
suddenly  and  in  full  blood,  not  to  postpone  the  funeral 
later  than  that  afternoon,  the  doctor  took  his  leave. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  result  ?"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  as 
Doctor  Longley  entered  his  door. 

"  Oh,  as  I  expected,"  said  Doctor  Longley.  "  The 
moment  I  hinted  at  the  subject  to  the  deacon,  I  saw 
by  his  looks,  if  it  were  to  save  his  own  life  and  the 
lives  of  all  his  friends,  he  never  would  consent  to  it." 

"  Well,  'tis  astonishing,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs,  "  that 
people  wh«>  have  common  sense  should  have  so  little 
K'nse  on  a  subject  of  this  kind.  I  won't  be  baffled  so, 
Doctor  Longley ;  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  What 
time  is  she  to  bo  buried  ?" 


POLI.V      &BA1      AND     THE     DOCTORS.       Ill 

"  Tliis  at'tcrn. ».  ,n,"  said  Doctor  Longley. 

"In  tin-  burying-ground  by  the  <»1«1  meeting-house 
up  the  road,  I  supp-.M-,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs. 

"  Yes,  undoubtedly,"  replied  Dr.  Longley. 

u  Well,  I'll  have  that  corpse  taken  up  this  night, 
and  v>u  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs, 
"  I'll  not  only  ascertain  the  cause  of  her  death,  but  I 
want  a  subject  for  dissection,  and  she,  having  died  so 
suddenly,  will  make  an  excellent  one." 

Doctor  Longley  shuddered  a  little  at  the  bold  pro 
ject  of  Doctor  Stubbs.  "  You  know,  Doctor,  there  is 
a  law  against  it,"  said  he,  "  and  besides,  the  bury  ing- 
ground  is  in  such  a  lonely  place  and  surrounded  by 
woods,  I  don't  believe  you  can  iind  anybody  with 
nerve  enough  to  go  there  ami  take  up  a  newly  buried 
corpse  in  the  night/' 

"  Let  me  alone  for  that,"  said  Doctor  Stubbs.  "  I 
kn«>w  a  chap  that  would  do  it  every  night  in  the  week- 
it'  I  wanted  him  to;  a  friend  of  mine  down  there  in 
tlu'  college,  in  the  senior  class.  He  has  nerve  enough 
to  go  anywhere,  and  is  up  to  a  job  of  this  kind  at  any 
time.  The  business  is  all  arranged.  I)"<'t»i\  and  I  shall 
go  through  with  it.  .W  Palmer  i<  the  man  tor  it.  and 
Kufu-  P.ariK-s  will  go  with  him.  I'd  go  mv^-lt',  but 
it  would  be  moiv  prudent  for  me  to  be  at  home,  for  in 


112 

case  of  accident,  and  the  thing  should  be  discovered, 
suspicion  would  be  likely  to  fall  on  me,  and  it  would 
be  important  for  me  tol>e  able  to  prove  where  I  was. 
Rufus  must  go  to  the  funeral  and  see  whereabouts  the 
corpse  is  buried,  so  he  can  find  the  place  in  a  dark 
night,  and  I  shall  have  to  go  down  to  the  college  the 
first  of  the  evening  after  Joe  myself,  and  get  him 
started,  and  then  come  right  home,  and  stay  at  home, 
so  that  I  can  prove  an  alibi  in  case  of  any  questions. 
Don't  I  understand  it,  Doctor  ?" 

"  Yes,  full  well  enough,"  said  Doctor  Longley, 
"  but  I  had  rather  you  would  be  in  the  scrape  than  I 
should." 

That  evening,  half  an  hour  after  dark,  there  was  a 
light  rap  at  Joe  Palmer's  door  in  the  third  story  of 
one  of  the  college  buildings.  The  door  was  partly 
.  and  Joe  said  "  Come  in."  No  one  entered,  but 
in  a  few  moments  the  rap  was  heard  again.  "  Come 
in,"  said  Joe.  Still  no  one  entered.  Presently  a 
figure,  concealed  under  a  cloak  and  with  muffled  face, 
appeared  partly  before  the  door,  and  said  something 
in  a  low  voice.  Joe  looked  wild  and  agitated.  Some 
college  scrape,  he  thought,  but  what  was  the  nature  of 
it  he  could  not  divine.  The  figure  looked  mysterious. 
Presently  the  voice  was  heard  again,  and  understood 


POLLY      «iUAY      AND     TH1      DO<     TORS.       1  1  •'{ 

to  utter  the  word  Palmer.  Joe  was  still  more  agitated, 
and  looked  at  his  cliuin  most  iiKjuirin-ly.  His  chum 
;,ed  to  the  door  and  asked  what  was  wanting. 
The  tiirnre  drew  bark  into  the  darkness  of  the  hall, 
and  answered  in  a  taint  voice,  that  ho  wanted  Palmer. 
At  last  Palmer  screwed  his  resolution  up  to  the  stick 
ing  point  and  vcntuiv<l  as  far  as  the  door,  while  his 
chum  stepped  back  int..  the  room.  The  ti^ure  a#iin 
camo  forward  and  whispered  to  Palmer  to  come  out, 
for  he  wanted  to  speak  with  him. 

"But  who  are  you  ?v  said  Palmer. 

Tin-  tiirmv  partially  uncovered  his  face,  and 
whispered  "  Doctor  Stubbs." 

Palmer  at  once  recognized  him.  and  stepped  Lack 
as  hold  as  a  lion,  and  took  his  hat  and  went  out.  In 
a  few  minutes  he  returned  and  t«>ld  his  chum,  with 
er  a  mysUM-i.'Us  air,  that  he  was  £oinir  out  with  a 
friend  t«»  he  Lr"iie  two  <>r  three  hour-,  that  he  need  not 
feel  uneasy  ahout  him.  and  miirht  leave  the  door 
unfastened  for  him  till  he  returned. 

Doctor  Stubby  haviiiLT  irivcn  Joe  and  Uufus  full 
direction-  how  to  proceed,  telling  them  to  get  a 
lar^o  wide  chai-e,  BO  that  they  could  manage  to  carry 
the  corpse  C  -itly,  and  intorminir  them  where 

they  could  find  and  shovels  depo-ited  by  the 


114 

side  of  the  road  for  the  purpose,  left  them  and  has 
tened  home. 

"Well  now,  Rufe,"  said  Joe,  "we'll  just  go  over 
to  Jake  Rider's  and  get  one  of  his  horses  and  chaise. 
But  we  needn't  be  in  a  hurry,  for  we  don't  want  to 
get  there  much  before  midnight ;  and  we'll  go  into 
the  store  here  and  get  a  drink  of  brandy  to  begin 
with,  for  this  kind  of  business  needs  a  little  stimulus." 

Having  braced  their  nerves  with  a  drink  of  brandy, 
they  proceeded  to  Jacob  Rider's. 

"  Jake,  give  us  a  horse  and  chaise  to  take  a  ride 
three  or  four  hours,"  said  Joe.  You  needn't  mind 
setting  up  for  us ;  we'll  put  the  horse  up  when  we 
come  back,  and  take  good  care  of  him ;  we  know 
whuro  to  put  him.  We  don't  want  a  nag;  an  old 
steady  horse  that  will  give  us  an  easy,  pleasant  ride." 

"  Old  Tom  is  jest  the  horse  you  want,"  said  Jacob, 
"  and  there's  a  good  easy  going  chaise." 

"  That  chaise  isn't  wide  enough,"  said  Joe  ;  "  give 
us  the  widest  one  you've  got." 

"  But  that's  plenty  wide  enougli  for  two  to  ride 
in,"  said  Jacob  ;  "  I  don't  see  what  you  want  a  wider 
chaise  than  that  for." 

"  Oh,  I  like  to  have  plenty  of  elbow  room,"  said 
Joe. 


POLLY     GRAY     AND     T  H  K     DOCTORS.      115 

•  Maybe  you  are  going  to  have  a  lady  to  ride 
with  you,"  said  Jacob. 

Jot  laughed,  and  whispered  to  Rufus  that  Jake 
had  hit  m-arcr  the  mark  than  he  was  aware  of. 

Jacob  selected  another  chaise.  "There  is  one," 
said  he  u  wide  enough  for  three  to  ride  in,  and  even 
four  upon  a  pinch." 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Joe  ;  "now  put  in  old  Tom." 

The  horse  was  soon  harnessed,  and  Joe  and  Kufus 
jumped  ii;t<>  the  chaise  and  drove  off. 

"Confound   these   college  chaps,"  said  Jacob   to 

himself  as  they  drove  out  of  the  yard;  "they  are 

always  a  sky-larkin'  somewhere  or  other.     There's 

one  thing  in  it,  though,  they  pay  me  well  for  my 

horses.     But    these    two    fellows    wanting    such    a 

ad   chaise;  they  are   ir-'inir  to  have  a  real  frolic 

somewhere  to  ni-lit.      Pve   a   plaguy  good  mind  to 

jump  nil  to  one  of  the  horses  and  follow,  and  see 

what  sort  of  snuff  they  are  up  to.     It's   so  dark  1 

could  do  it  just  as  well  as  not,  without    the  least 

of  their  serin::  me." 

No  sooner  thought  than  done.  Jake  at  once 
mounted  one  of  his  horses,  and  followed  the  chaise. 
Then-  was  no  nio«,n,  and  the  night  was  cloudy  and 
dark  ;  but  a  slight  rattle  in  one  of  the  wheel-  "f  the 


116 


WAY      Do  W  N       1  i  A.  8  T  . 


chaise  enabled  him  easily  to  follow  it,  though 
entirely  out  of  sight.  Having  gone  about  two  miles 
the  chaise  stopped  at  the  corner,  about  a  hundred 
rods  from  the  house  of  Dr.  Stubbs.  Jake  got  off 
and  hitched  his  horse,  and  crept  carefully  along  by 
the  side  of  the  fence  to  see  what  was  done  there. 
By  stooping  down  and  looking  up  against  a  clear 
patch  of  sky,  he  could  see  one  of  the  two  leave  the 
chaise  and  go  to  the  fence  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  return  a«ruin,  carrying  something  in  his  arms  to 
the  chaise.  He  repeated  this  operation  twice;  but 
what  he  carried  Jake  could  not  discern.  Perhaps 
it  might  be  some  baskets  of  refreshments.  They 
wore  going  off  to  some  house  to  have  a  frolic.  The 
cliaise  moved  on  again,  and  Jake  mounted  his  horse 
and  followed.  They  went  up  the  road  till  tlu-\ 
came  to  the  old  meeting-house;  they  passed  it  a 
little,  and  came  against  the  old  bury  ing-ground. 
The  chaise  stopped  and  Jake  stopped.  The  chaise 
stood  still  for  the  space  of  about  live  minutes,  and 
there  was  not  the  least  sound  to  be  heard  in  any 
direction.  At  la<t,  from  the  little  rattle  of  the  chaise 
wheel,  he  perceived  they  were  moving  at  a  moderate 
walk.  They  came  to  the  corner  of  the  lnirving- 
ground,  and  turned  a  little  out  of  the  road  and 


POL  i.  \     •.  i:  \  v     A  \  i»   r  ii  i;    DOCTORS.     117 

Stopped    tlio    chaise    under    the    >hadow    of  a   la 
>preadi  where   it   could   not   hi  ived   by 

any  one  pu»ing  in  the   read,  even   >lnuil«l   the  clouds 
bru>h  away  and  leave  it  starlight. 

•'  I:  il  \ery  «.,M,"  th-u^lit  Jake,  "  that  they  should 
Stop  at  such  a  pi:  bifl  in  a  dark  night;  the  last 

place  in  the  world  1  should  think  ot'  stopping  at." 

.lake  dismounted  and  liitched  his  horse  a  little  dis 
tance,  and  crept  carefully  up  to  watch  their  move 
ments.  They  took  something  out  of  the  eh;. 
passed  along  by  the  fence,  went  through  the  little 
.tered  the  burying-ground.  Here  a  new 
light  seemed  to  flash  upon  Jake's  mind. 

"I  hope  no  murder  ha<  been  committed,"  thought 
!'.«•  to  himself;   "but  it's  pretty  clear  something  is  to 
boned   here  to-night  that  the  world  must  know 
nothing  about." 

Jake  Wta  perplexed,  and  in  doubt  as  to  what  he 
should  do.  He  had  some  conscience,  and  felt  as 
though  he  ought  to  investigate  the  matter,  and  put  a 
Stop  to  the  bmUMei  it'  anything  very  wicked  was 
going  on.  Hut  then  there  weiv  -  Moderations 

that  weighed  on  the  other  nde.    -If  murder  had  }<• 
committed,  it  wa>  within  the  ran.  and 

not  very  unreasonable  to  suppose,  that  murder  might 


118 

be  committed  again  to  conceal  it.  There  were  two 
of  them,  and  lie  was  alone.  It  might  not  be  entirely 
safe  for  him  to  interfere.  He  would  hardly  care  to 
be  thrown  into  a  grave  and  buried  there  that  night. 
And  then,  again,  Jake  was  avaricious,  and  wouldn't 
care  to  break  friends  with  those  college  fellows,  for 
they  paid  him  a  good  deal  of  money.  On  the  whole, 
he  was  resolved  to  keep  quiet  and  see  the  end  of  the 
matter. 

Joe  and  Rufus  walked  two-thirds  of  the  way 
across  the  burying-ground  and  stopped.  Jake  fol 
lowed  at  a  careful  distance,  and  when  he  found  they 
had  stopped,  he  crept  slowly  up  on  the  darkest  side, 
so  near  that,  partly  by  sight  and  partly  by  sound,  he 
could  discover  what  took  place.  There  was  not  a 
loud  word  spoken,  though  he  occasionally  heard  them 
whimper  to  each  other.  Then  he  heard  the  sound  of 
shovels  and  the  moving  of  the  gravel. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Jake  to  himself,  "  they  are  dig 
ging  a  grave  !"  and  the  cold  sweat  started  on  his  fore 
head.  Still  he  resolved  to  be  quiet  and  see  it  all 
through.  Once  or  twice  they  stopped  and  seemed  to 
listening,  as  though  they  thought  they  heard  some 
noise.  Then  he  could  hear  them  whisper  to  each 
other,  but  could  not  understand  what  they  said.  After 


POLLY   OKAY   AND  T  II  K   DOCTORS.   11'.' 

they  had  been  digging  and  throwing  out  gravel  some 
time,  lie  heard  a  sound  like  the  light  knock  of  a  shovel 
upon  the  lid  of  a  coilin. 

"Take  care,"  said  Joe,  in  a  very  loud  whisper, 
"it'll  never  do  to  make  such  a  noise  as  that;  it 
could  be  heard  almost  halt'  a  mile ;  do  be  more  care 
ful." 

Again  they  pursued  their  work,  and  occasionally  a 
hollow  sound  like  a  shovel  scraping  over  a  coffin  was 
heard.  At  length  their  work  of  throwing  out  gravel 

iied  to  be  completed  ;  and  then  there  was  a  pause 
for  some  time,  interrupted  occasionally  by  sounds  of 

rwing,  and  wedging,  and  wrenching;  and  at  last 
they  seemed  to  be  lifting  some  heavy  substance  <mt 
of  the  grave.  They  carried  it  toward  the  gate.  Jake 
was  lying  almost  upon  the  ground,  and  as  they  passed 

:•  him,  he  could  perceive  they  were  carrying  some 
white  object  about  the  length  and  size  of  a  cor; 
They  went  out  at  the  gate  and  round  to  the  ch;: 
and  presently  they  returned  again,  and  appeared   by 
their  motions  and  the  sound  t<>  be  tilling  up  the  grave. 
.lake   took   this   opportunity   to   go  and  examine  tin- 
chaise:  and   Hire   enough   he   found   there  a  tull->: 
corpse,  wrapped  in  a  wl;  .  lying  in   th« 

of  tl  -e,  the  feet  jteeting  on  the  Hour,  the  body 


120  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

leaning  across  the  seat,  and  the  head  resting  against 
the  centre  of  the  back  part  of  the  chaise. 

"  Only  some  scrape  of  the  doctor's  after  all,"  said 
Jake  to  himself,  who  now  began  to  breathe  somewhat 
easier  than  he  had  done  for  some  time  past.  "  But 
it's  rather  shameful  business,  though ;  this  must  be 
Deacon  Gray's  daughter,  I'm  sure  ;  and  it's  a  shame 
to  treat  the  old  man  in  this  shabby  kind  of  way.  I'll 
put  a  stop  to  this,  anyhow.  Polly  Gray  was  too  good 
a  sort  of  a  gal  to  be  chopped  up  like  a  quarter  of  beef, 
according  to  my  way  of  thinking,  and  it  shan't  be." 

Jake  then  lifted  the  corpse  out  of  the  chaise,  car 
ried  it  a  few  rods  farther  from  the  road,  laid  it  down, 
took  off  the  winding-sheet,  wrapped  it  carefully  round 
himself,  went  back  and  got  into  the  chaise,  and  placed 
himself  exactly  in  the  position  in  which  the  corpse 
had  been  left.  He  had  remained  in  that  situation  but 
a  short  time  before  Joe  and  Rufus,  having  filled  up 
the  grave  and  made  all  right  there,  came  and  seated 
themselves  in  the  chaise,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
corpse,  and  drove  slowly  and  quietly  off. 

"  I'm  glad  it's  over,"  said  Rufus,  fetching  a  long 
breath.  "My  heart's  been  in  my  mouth  the  whole 
time.  I  thought  I  heard  somebody  coming  half  a 
dozen  times ;  and  then  it's  such  a  dismal  gloomy  place 


Pu  1. 1.  v     •-  i:  \  v     AND     T  UK     DOOTOBB.       1  %J  1 

i",,.     You  wouldn't  catch  me  there  again,  in  such  a 
scrape,  I  can  tell  yon.." 

M  Well,  I  was  calm  as  clock-work  the  whole  time," 
said  Joe.  "You  should  have  such  pluck  as  I've  got, 
Rule  ;  nothing  ever  frightens  me." 

At  that  moment  the  chaise  wheel  struck  a  stone, 
and  caused  the  corpse  to  roll  suddenly  against  Joe. 
He  clapped  up  his  hand  to  push  it  a  little  back,  and 
instead  of  a  cold  clammy  corpse,  he  felt  his  hand 
pressed  against  a  warm  face  of  live  flesh.  As  quick 
as  though  he  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  Joe 
dropped  the  reins,  and  with  one  bound  sprang  a  rod 
from  the  chaise  and  ran  for  his  life.  Eufus,  without 
knowing  the  cause  of  this  strange  and  sudden  move 
ment,  sprang  from  the  other  side  with  almost  equal 
ability,  and  t«>l]M\\vd  Joe  with  his  utmost  speed.  They 
scarcely  stopped  to  take  breath  till  they  had  run  two 
miles  and  got  into  Joe's  room  at  the  college,  and  shut 
the  door  and  Icckrd  thcm<rlves  in.  Here,  having 
sworn  Joe's  chum  to  secresy,  they  began  to  discuss 
tin-  matter.  But  concerning  the  very  strange  warmth 
of  the  corpse  they  could  cmnc  t«>  u<>  satisfactory  con 
clusion.  Whether  it  could  be,  that  they  had  not 
actually  taken  up  the  o.rp-o  fnun  the  grave,  hut 
before  they  had  got  down  to  it  some  evil  spirit  had 


122  '  \V  AY      DOWN      E  A  6  T  . 

come  in  the  shape  of  the  corpse  and  deceived  them, 
or  whether  it  was  actually  the  corpse,  and  it  had  come 
to  life,  or  whether  it  was  the  ghost  of  Polly  Gray, 
were  questions  they  could  not  decide.  They  agreed, 
however,  to  go  the  next  morning  by  sunrise  on  to  the 
ground,  and  see  what  discoveries  they  could  make. 

When  Jacob  Rider  found  himself  alone  in  the 
chaise,  being  convinced  that  Joe  and  Rufus  would 
not  come  back  to  trouble  him  that  night,  he  turned 
about  and  drove  back  to  the  burying-ground. 

"  Now,"  said  Jake,  "  I  think  the  best  thing  I  can 
do,  for  all  concerned,  is  to  put  Polly  Gray  back 
where  she  belongs,  and  there  let  her  rest." 

Accordingly  Jake  went  to  work  and  opened  the 
grave  again,  carried  the  corpse  and  replaced  it  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  filled  up  the  grave  and  rounded 
it  off  in  good  order.  He  then  took  his  horse  and 
chaise  and  returned  home,  well  satisfied  with  his 
night's  work. 

The  next  morning,  some  time  before  sunrise,  and 
before  any  one  was  stirring  in  the  neighborhood, 
Joe  and  Rufus  were  at  the  old  burying-ground. 
They  went  round  the  inclosure,  went  to  the  tree 
where  they  had  fastened  their  horse,  and  looked  on 
every  side,  but  discovered  nothing.  They  went 


POLLY     <,I:AY     AN- i)     TIII:     DOOTOBB. 

through  the  gate,  and  across  to  the  grave  wl 
they  had  been  the  night  before.  The  grave  looked 
all  right,  as  though  it  had  n<»t  been  touched  since 
tlie  funeral.  They  could  see  nothing  of  the  h 
or  chaise,  and  they  concluded  if  the  corpse  or  evil 
spirit,  or  whatever  it  was  in  the  chaise,  had  left  the 
horse  to  himself,  he  probably  found  his  way  directly 
home.  They  thought  it  best  therefore  immediately 
to  go  and  see  Jake,  and  make  some  kind  of  an 
explanation.  So  they  went  over  immediately  to 
Jake's  stable,  and  found  the  horse  safe  in  his  stall. 
Presently  Jake  made  his  appearance. 

"Well,  your  confounded  old  horse,"  said  Joe, 
"  would  n't  stay  hitched  last  night.  He  left  us  in  the 
lurch,  and  we  had  to  come  home  afoot.  I  see  he's 
come  home,  though.  Chaise  all  right,  I  IIOJK  ?" 

"  Yes,  all  right,"  said  Jake. 

M  Well,  how  much  for  the  ride,"  said  Joe,  "seeing 
we  did  n't  ride  but  one  way?" 

"  Seeing  you  rode  part  way  back,"  said  Jak 
shall  charge  you  fifty  dollars." 

Joe  started  and  looked  round,  but  a  knowing  leer 
in  Jake's  eye  convinced  him   it  was  no  joke.     II < 
handed   Jake   the   fifty    dollars,   at    the   same    time 
placing  his  finger  emphatically  across  his  lip-;  and 


124 

Jake  took  the  fifty  dollars,  whispering  in  Joe's  ear, 
"  dead  folks  tell  no  tales."  Jake  then  put  his  finger 
across  his  lips,  and  Joe  and  Rufus  bade  him  good 
morning. 


.1  K  K  K  Y      O  UTT  III  D  G 


125 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JERRY      OUTTRIDGE. 

On,  for  "  the  good  old  days  of  Adam  and  Eve  !" 
when  vagabond  idlers  were  not ;  or  the  good  old  days 
of  the  pilgrim  fathers  of  New  England,  when  they 
were  suitably  rewarded!  That  idlers  could  not  bide 
those  days,  there  is  extant  the  following  testimony. 
In  the  early  court  records  of  that  portion  of  the  old 
Bay  State  called  the  District  of  Maine,  in  the  year 
1656,  we  have  the  following  entry  of  a  presentment 
by  a  grand  jury : — 

u  \\rQ  present  Jerry  Guttridge  for  an  idle  ]» 
and   not  providing  for  his   family,  and   for   giving 
reproachful   language  to  Mr.   Nat.    Frier,   when   he 
reproved  him  f«»r  his  idleness. 

"The  Court,  for  his  offence,  adjudges  the  delinquent 
to  have  twenty  lashes  on  hi-  back,  and  to  bring  secu 
rity  to  the  Court  to  be  of  better  behavior  in  providing 
I'.r  hU  family."— [A  True  Extract  from  the  Cvwrt 
Records.'] 


126 

The  whole  history  of  this  affair,  thus  faintly  sha 
dowed  forth  in  these  few  lines,  has  recently  come  to 
light,  and  is  now  published  for  the  benefit  of  the 
world,  as  hereafter  followeth. 


"  What  shall  we  have  for  dinner,  Mr.  Guttridge  ?" 
said  the  wife  of  Jerry  Guttridge,  in  a  sad,  desponding 
tone,  as  her  husband  came  into  their  log  hovel,  from 
a  neighboring  grog-shop,  about  twelve  o'clock  on  a 
hot  July  day. 

"  Oh,  pick  up  something,"  said  Jerry,  "  and  I  wish 
you  would  be  spry  and  get  it  ready,  for  I'm  hungry 
now,  and  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  shop ;  for  Sam  Wil- 
lard  and  Seth  Harmon  are  coming  over,  by  an'  by,  to 
swop  horses,  and  they'll  want  me  to  ride  'em.  Come, 
stir  around ;  I  can't  wait." 

"We  haven't  got  anything  at  all  in  the  hou-c  to 
eat,"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge.  "  What  shall  I  get  T 

"  Well,  cook  something,"  said  Jerry ;  "  no  matter 
what  it  is." 

"  But,  Mr.  Guttridge,  we  have  n't  got  the  least  tiling 
in  the  house  to  cook." 

"Well,  weUjjfedfefip  something"  said  Jerry,  rather 
snappishly,  "  for  I'm  in  a  hurry." 


.!  r.  i;  K  v 


r  TT  BIO  1-7 


-1  cart  make  victuals  out  of  nothing"  -aid  the 
wife  ;  "  it'  you'll  only  l»rin<r  me  anything  in  the  v/orld 
int..  the  house  to  cook,  111  cook  it.  ]5ut  I  tell  yon 
haven't  got  a  mouthful  of  meat  in  the  house,  nor  a 
mouthful  of  bread,  nor  a  speck  of  meal ;  and  the  l:i>t 
potatoes  we  had  in  the  house,  we  ate  for  breakfast; 
and  you  know  we  didn't  have  more  than  half  enough 
for  breakfast,  neither." 

-Well,  what  have  you  been  doing  all  this  1'oiv- 
noon,"  said  Jerry,  "  that  you  have  n't  pirked  up  some 
thing?  Why  didn't  you  go  over  to  Mr.  Whitman's 
and  borrow  some  meal  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge,  "we've  borrowed 

meal  there  three  times  that  is  n't  returned  yet ;  and  I 

was   ashamed   to  go  again  till  that  was  paid.     And 

Mr.  the  baby's  cried  so,  I've  had  to  'tend  him  the 

whole  forenoon,  and  couldn't  go  out." 

"Then  you  a'n't  a-goin'  to  give  us  any  dinner 
YOU  r  said  ,'K'iTY,  with  a  reproachful  tone  and  look. 
"I  pity  the  man  that  has  a  helpless,  shiftless  wife  ;  la- 
has  a  hard  row  to  hoe.     AV hat's  become  of  that  iish  1 
l.roiitrl,!  in  yeMerday  ?" 

-Why,  Mr.  Outtridire,"  said  his  wife,  with  t*  , 
her  eves  %i  YOU  j.nd  the  children  ate  that  Iish  for  your 
supper  last  ni«rht.     1  never  taMcd  a  mand  of  it.  and 


128  'WAY    DOWN    E  A  s  T  . 

have  n't  tasted  anything  but  potatoe  sthese  two  days; 
and  I'm  so  faint  now  I  can  hardly  stand." 

"Always  a-grumblin',"  said  Jerry;  "I  can't  never 
come  into  the  house  but  what  I  must  hear  a  fuss  about 
something  or  other.  "What's  •  this  boy  snivelling 
about?"  he  continued,  turning  to  little  Bobby,  his 
oldest  boy,  a  little  ragged,  dirty-faced,  sickly-looking 
thing,  about  six  years  old ;  at  the  same  time  giving 
the  child  a  box  on  the  ear,  which  laid  him  his  length 
on  the  floor.  "Now  shet  up!"  said  Jerry,  "or  I'll 
lam  you  to  be  crying  about  all  day  for  nothing." 

The  tears  rolled  afresh  down  the  cheeks  of  Mrs. 
Guttridge  ;  she  sighed  heavily  as  she  raised  the  child 
from  the  floor,  and  seated  him  on  a  bench  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  room. 

"  "What  is  Bob  crying  about  ?"  said  Jerry,  fretfully. 

"Why,  Mr.  Guttridge,"  said  his  wife,  sinking  upon 
the  bench  beside  her  little  boy,  and  wiping  the  tears 
with  her  apron,  "  the  poor  child  has  been  crying  for  a 
piece  of  bread  these  two  hours.  lie's  eat  nothing  to 
day  but  one  potatoe,  and  I  s'pose  the  poor  thing  is 
half  starved." 

At  this  moment  their  neighbor,  Mr.  Nat.  Frier,  a 
substantial  farmer,  and  a  worthy  man,  mado  his  ap 
pearance  at  the  door ;  and  as  it  was  wide  opeo,  ho 


.i  i:  i:  i:  v     OUTTBIDi  1 -'.' 

walked  in  and  took  a  seat.  He  knew  the  destitute 
conditionof  Guttridge's  family,  and  had  ofu-n  relieved 
their  distresses.  His  visit  at  the  present  time  was 
partly  an  errand  of  charity;  for,  being  in  want  of 
some  extra  labor  in  his  haying  field  that  afternoon, 
and  knowing  that  Jerry  was  doing  nothing,  while  his 
family  was  starving,  lie  thought  he  would  endeavor  to 
get  him  to  work  for  him,  and  pay  him  in  provisions. 

Jerry  Seated  himself  rather  sullenly  on  a  broken- 
backed  chair,  the  only  sound  one  in  the  house  being 
occupied  by  Mr.  Frier,  toward  whom  he  cast  sundry 
gruff  looks  and  surly  glances.  The  truth  was,  Jerry 
had  not  received  the  visits  of  his  neighbors,  of  late 
years,  with  a  very  gracious  welcome.  He  regarded 
them  rather  as  spies,  who  came  to  ^  uivh  out  the  naked 
ness  of  the  land,  than  as  neighborly  visitors,  calling 
to  exchange  friendly  salutations.  He  said  not  a  word  ; 
and  the  iirst  address  of  Mr.  Frier  was  to  little  Bobby. 

••  What's  the  matter  with  little  Bobby?"  said  he,  in 
a  gentle  tone;  "come,  my  little  fellow,  come  here 
and  tell  me  what's  the  matter." 

" Go,  run,  Bobby ;  go  and  see  Mr.  Frier,'1  said  the 
m<>!her.  >li-htly  pushing  him  forward  with  her  hand. 

The  hoy,  with  one  linger  in  hi-  mouth,  and  the 

still  rolling  over  his  dirtv  face,  edged  along  sidewiso 

C* 


130  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

up  to  Mr.  Frier,  who  took  him  in  his  lap,  and  asked 
him  again  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  want  a  piece  of  bread !"  said  Bobby. 

"  And  won't  your  mother  give  you  some  ?"  said 
Mr.  Frier,  tenderly. 

"  She  ha'n't  got  none,"  replied  Bobby,  "  nor  'taters 
too."  Mrs.  Guttridge's  tears  told  the  rest  of  the 
story.  The  worthy  farmer  knew  they  were  entirely 
out  of  provisions  again,  and  he  forbore  to  ask  any 
further  questions ;  but  told  Bobby  if  he  would  go 
over  to  his  house,  he  would  give  him  something  to 
eat.  Then  turning  to  Jerry,  said  he  :— 

"  Neighbor  Guttridge,  I've  got  four  tons  of  hay 
down-,  that  needs  to  go  in  this  afternoon,  for  it  looks 
as  if  we  should  have  rain  to-morrow  ;  and  I've  come 
over  to  see  if  I  can  get  you  to  go  and  help  me.  If 
you'll  go  this  afternoon,  and  assist  me  to  get  it  in,  I'll 
give  you  a  bushel  of  meal,  or  a  half  bushel  of  meal 
and  a  bushel  of  potatoes,  and  two  pounds  of 
pork." 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Jerry,  "  I've  got  something  else 
to  do." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mr  Frier,  "  if  you've  got  anything 
else  to  do  that  will  be  more  profitable,  I'm  glad  of  it, 
for  there's  enough  hands  that  1  can  got ;  only  I 


.IK  Kit  Y      OUTT  RIDGE.  131 

thought  you  might  like  to  go,  bein'  you  was  scant  of 
provisions." 

"  Do  pray  go,  Mr.  Guttridge  !"  said  his  wife,  with 
a  beseeching  look,  "  for  you  are  only  going  over  to 
the  shop  to  ride  them  horses,  and  that  won't  do  no 
good ;  you'll  only  spend  all  the  afternoon  for  nothin', 
and  then  we  shall  have  to  go  to  bed  without  our  sup 
per,  again.  Do  pray  go,  Mr.  Guttridge,  do  !" 

"  I  wish  you  would  hold  your  everlasting  clack  ;" 
said  Jerry ;  "  you  are  always  full  of  complainings. 
It's  got  to  be  a  fine  time  of  day,  if  the  women  are 
a-goin'  to  rule  the  roast.  I  shall  go  over  and  ride  them 
horses,  and  it's  no  business  to  you  nor  nobody  else ; 
and  if  you  are  too  lazy  to  get  your  own  supper,  y<  >u 
may  go  without  it ;  that's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

With  that  he  aimed  for  the  door,  when  Mr.  Frier 
addressed  him  as  follows  : 

"  Now  I  must  say,  neighbor  Guttridge,  if  you  arc 
going  to  spend  the  afternoon  over  to  the  shop,  to  ride 
horses  for  them  jockeys,  and  leave  your  family  with 
out  provisions,  when  you  have  a  good  chance  to  'arn 
enough  this  afternoon  to  last  them  nigh  about  a  week, 
I  must  say,  neighbor  Guttridge,  that  I  think  you  are 
not  in  the  way  of  your  duty." 

Upon  this  Jerry  whirled  round,  and  looked  Mr. 


132  '  \\   AY      DOWN      1C  A  S  T  . 

Frier  full  in  the  face,  "  grinning  horribly  a  ghastly 
smile,"  and  said  he, 

"  You  old,  miserable,  dirty,  meddling  vagabond  ! 
you  are  a  scoundrel  and  a  scape-gallows,  and  an 
infernal  small  piece  of  a  man,  /think  !  I've  as  good 
a  mind  to  kick  you  out  of  doors,  as  ever  I  had  to  eat ! 
Who  made  you  a  master  over  me,  to  be  telling  me 
what's  my  duty  ?  You  better  go  home  and  take  care 
of  your  own  brats,  and  let  your  neighbors'  alone  !" 

Mr.  Frier  sat  and  looked  Jerry  calmly  in  the  face, 
without  uttering  a  syllable  ;  while  he,  having  blown 
his  blast,  marched  out  of  doors,  and  steered  directly 
for  the  grog-shop,  leaving  his  wife  to  "  pick  up  some 
thing,"  if  she  could,  to  keep  herself  and  children  from 
absolute  starvation. 

Mr.  Frier  was  a  benevolent  man  and  a  Christian, 
and  in  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity  he  always  sought 
to  relieve  distress  wherever  he  found  it.  He  was 
endowed,  too,  with  a  good  share  of  plain  common 
sense,  and  knew  something  of  human  nature  ;  and  as 
he  was  well  aware  that  Mrs.  Guttridge  really  loved 
her  husband,  notwithstanding  his  idle  habits,  and 
cold,  brutal  treatment  to  his  family,  he  forebore  to 
remark  upon  the  scene  which  had  just  passed  ;  but 
telling  the  afflicted  woman  he  would  send  her  some- 


JERKY     GUTTKIDGE.  133 

tiling  to  eat,  ho  took  little  Bobby  by  the  hand,  ami 
led  him  home.  A  plate  of  victuals  was  set  before  the 
chilil,  who  devoured  it  with  a  greediness  that  was 
piteous  to  behold. 

"  Poor  cre'tur  !"  said  Mrs.  Frier,  "  why,  he's  half 
starved  !  I.etsey,  bring  him  a  dish  of  bread  and 
milk;  that  will  set  the  best  on  his  poor,  empty, 
starved  stomach." 

Betsey  ran  and  got  the  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  and 
little  Hubby's  hand  soon  began  to  move  from  the  dish 
t«>  his  mouth,  with  a  motion  as  steady  and  rapid  as 
the  pendulum  of  a  clock.  The  whole  family  stood 
and  looked  on,  with  pity  and  surprise,  until  ho  had 
tini>hed  his  meal,  or  rather  until  he  had  eaten,  as 
much  as  they  dared  allow  him  to  eat  at  once  ;  i'<  »r 
although  he  had  devoured  a  largo  plate  of  meat  and 
and  two  dishes  of  bread  and  milk,  his 
appetite  seemed  as  ravenous  as  when  he  fir-t  began  : 
and  he  still,  like  the  memorable  Oliver  Twist,  "  a<ked 
for  more." 

While  Bobby  had  been  eating,  Mr.  Frier  had  In -en 
relating  to  his  family  the  events  which  had  occurred  at 
G ntt ridge's  hou^e,  and  the  starving  condition   ,,f'  the 
inmates;  and  it  was  at  once  agreed  that  sonietl. 
should  be  sent  over  immediately:  tor  they  all  >aid 


134 

"  Mrs.  Guttridge  was  a  clever  woman,  and  it  was  a 
shame  that  she  should  be  left  to  suffer  so." 

Accordingly,  a  basket  was  filled  with  bread,  a  jug 
of  milk,  and  some  meat  and  vegetables,  ready  cooked, 
which  had  been  left  from  their  dinner ;  and  Betsey 
ran  and  brought  a  pie,  made  from  their  last  year's 
dried  pumpkins,  and  asked  her  mother  if  she  might 
not  put  that  in,  "  so  the  poor  starving  cre'turs  might 
have  a  little  taste  of  something  that  was  good." 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  put  in  a  bit  of 
cheese  with  it ;  I  don't  think  we  shall  be  any  the 
poorer  for  it ;  for  '  he  that  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth 
to  the  Lord.'  » 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Frier,  "  and  I  guess  you  may 
as  well  put  in  a  little  dried  pumpkin  ;  she  can  stew  it 
up  for  the  little  ones,  and  it'll  be  good  for  'em. 
We've  got  a  plenty  of  green  stuff  a-growin',  to  last 
till  pumpkins  come  again."  So  a  quantity  of  dried 
pumpkin  was  also  packed  in  the  basket,  and  the  pie 
laid  on  the  top,  and  George  was  despatched,  in  com 
pany  with  little  Bobby,  to  carry  it  over. 

Mr.  Frier's  benevolent  feelings  had  become  highly 
excited.  He  forgot  his  four  tons  of  hay,  and  sat 
down  to  consult  with  his  wife  about  what  could  be 
done  for  the  Guttridge  family.  Something  must  be 


.i  i:  i:  i:  v     GUTTRIDGE.  135 

d<»ne  soon;  he  was  not  able  to  support  them  all  the 
time;  and  if  they  were  left  alone  much  longer  they 
would  starve.  He  told  his  wife  he  "  had  a  good  mind 
to  go  and  enter  a  complaint  to  the  grand  jury  agin7 
Jerry,  for  a  lazy,  idle  person,  that  didn't  provide  for 
his  family.  The  court  sets  at  Saco  to-morrow,  and 
don't  you  think,  wife,  I  had  better  go  and  do  it  ?" 

His  wife  thought  he  had  better  go  over  first  and 
talk  with  Mrs.  Guttridge  about  it ;  and  if  she  was 
willing  he  had  better  do  it.  Mr.  Frier  said,  he 
"  could  go  over  and  talk  with  her,  but  he  did  n't  think 
it  would  be  the  least  use,  for  she  loved  Jerry,  ugly  as 
he  was,  and  he  did  n't  believe  she  would  be  willing  to 
have  him  punished  by  the  court." 

However,  after  due  consultation,  he  concluded  to 
go  over  and  have  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Guttridge  ab<»ut 
tin-  matter.  Accordingly,  he  took  his  hat  and  walked 
over.  He  found  the  door  open,  as  usual,  and  wulki-1 
in  without  ceremony.  Here  he  beheld  the  whole 
f;«nily,  including  Jerry  himself,  seated  at  their  little 
pine  table,  doing  ample  justice  to  their  basket  of  pr«>- 
visions  which  he  had  just  before  sent  thorn.  II 
observed  the  pie  had  been  cut  into  pieces,  and  one 
half  nf  it,  and  lie  thought  ratlin-  the  larirest  half,  was 
laid  mi  Jerry's  plate,  the  rest  being  cut  up  into  small 


136 

bits,  and  divided  among  the  children.  Mrs.  Gut- 
tridge  had  reserved  none  to  herself,  except  a  small 
spoonful  of  the  soft  part  with  which  she  was  trying 
to  feed  the  baby.  The  other  eatables  seemed  to  be 
distributed  very  much  in  the  same  proportion. 

Mr.  Frier  was  a  cool,  considerate  man,  whose  pas 
sions  were  always  under  the  most  perfect  control ; 
but  he  always  confessed,  for  years  afterwards,  "  that 
for  a  minute  or  two,  he  thought  he  felt  a  little  some 
thing  like  anger  rising  up  in  his  stomach  !" 

He  sat  and  looked  on  until  they  had  finished  their 
meal,  and  Jerry  had  eaten  bread,  and  moat,  an- 1 
vegetables  enough  for  two  common  men's  dinner,  and 
swallowed  his  half  of  the  pie,  and  a  large  slice  of 
cheese  by  way  of  dessert ;  and  then  rose,  took  his 
hat,  and  without  saying  a  word,  marched  deliberately 
out  of  the  house,  directing  his  course  again  to  tho 
grog-shop. 

Mr.  Frier  now  broached  the  subject  of  his  errand 
to  Mrs.  Guttridge.  He  told  her  the  neighbors  could 
not  afford  to  support  her  family  much  longer,  and 
unless  her  husband  went  to  work  he  did  n't  see  but 
they  would  have  to  starve. 

Mrs.  Guttridge  began  to  cry.  She  said  "  she  did  n't 
know  what  they  should  do;  she  had  talked  as  long  as 


JERKY     &UTTBIDQ]    ,  137 

talking  would  do  any  good ;  but  somehow  Mr.  (iut- 
tridge  didn't  seem  to  love  work.  She  believed  it 
was  n't  his  naiur'  to  work." 

u  Well,  Mrs.  Guttridge,  do  you  believe  the  Scrip 
tures?"  said  Mr.  Frier,  solemnly. 

"  I'm  sure  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge  ;  "  I  believe 
all  there  is  in  the  Biye." 

"  And  don't  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Frier,  "  the  Bible 
says,  cHe  that  will  not  work,  neither  shall  he  eat/" 

"  I  know  there's  something  in  the  Bible  like  that/' 
said  Mrs.  Guttridge,  with  a  very  serious  look. 

"Then  do  you  think  it  right,"  said  Mr.  Frier, 
"  when  your  neighbors  send  you  in  a  basket  of  provi 
sions,  do  you  think  it  right  that  Mr.  Guttridge,  win* 
won't  work  and  'am  a  inoutht'ul  himself,  should  sit 
down  and  eat  more  than  all  the  rest  of  you,  and  pick 
out  the  best  part  of  it,  too  ?" 

M  \Vi-ll,  I  don't  suppose  it's  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gut 
tridge,  th«  »u ghl fully  ;  "  but  somehow,  Mr.  Guttridge  is 
so  lu-arty,  it  seems  as  if  he  would  faint  away,  if  he 
,   didn  't  have  m<»re  than  the  rest  of  us  to  eat." 

••  \\Y11,  an-  you  willing  to  go  on  in  this  way?" 
tinned  Mr.  Frier,  "in  open  violation  of  the  Script-. 

i   keep  \  '"n>clf  and  children  every  day  in  danger 
of  starving  ?" 


138  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"What  can  I  do,  Mr.  Frier?"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge, 
bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears  ;  "  I've  talked,  and  it's 
no  use ;  Mr.  Guttridge,  won't  work ;  it  don't  seem  to 
be  in  him.  Maybe  if  you  should  talk  to  him,  Mr. 
Frier,  he  might  do  better." 

"No,  that  would  be  no  use,"  said  Mr.  Frier. 
"When  I  was  over  here  before,  you  see  how  he  took 
it,  jest  because  I  spoke  to  him  about  going  over  to  the 
shop,  when  he  ought  to  be  to  work,  to  get  something 
for  his  family  to  cat.  You  see  how  mad  lie  was,  and 
how  provoking  he  talked  to  me.  It's  no  use  for  me 
to  say  anything  to  him  ;  but  I  think,  Mrs.  Guttridge, 
if  somebody  should  complain  to  the  Grand  Jury 
about  him,  the  Court  would  make  him  go  to  work. 
And  if  you  are  willing  for  it,  I  think  I  should  feel  it 
my  duty  to  go  and  complain  of  him." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  it  would  be  best,"  said 
Mrs.  Guttridge,  "  and  if  you  think  it  would  make  him 
go  to  work,  I'm  willing  you  should.  When  will  the 
Court  sit  ?" 

" To-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Frier;  "and  I'll  give  up 
all  other  business,  and  go  and  attend  to  it." 

M  Hut  what  will  the  Court  do  to  him,  Mr.  Frier?'3 
asked  Mrs.  Guttridge. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Frier,  «  but  I  ex- 


.)  ]•:  i:  i:  v     G  r  71  i:  i  i>«.  r  .  !:;:• 

pect  they'll  ]>uiiish  him  ;  and  I  kn<>w  they'll  make  lii'm 
go  to  work." 

"Punish  him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Guttridge,  with  a 
;Med  air.     "  Seems  to  me  I  don't  want  to  have  him 
punished.     But  do  you  think,  Mr.  Frier,  they  will 
hurt  him  any  ?" 

tt  Well,  I  think  it's  likely,1'  said  Mr.  Frier,  "  they 
will  hurt  him  some;  but  you  must  remember,  Mr<. 
Guttridge,  it  is  better  once  t«>  smart  than  always  to 
ache.  Remember,  too,  you'll  be  out  of  pm visions 
again  by  to-morrow.  Your  neighbors  can't  sup; 
your  family  all  the  time;  and  if  your  husband  don't 
go  to  work,  you'll  be  starving  again." 

"Oh  dear— well,  I  don't  know!"  said  Mrs.  Gut- 
tridge,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "You  may  do  jest  as 
you  think  best  about  it,  Mr.  Frier ;  that  is,  it'  y«.u 
don't  think  they'll  hurt  him." 

Mr.  Frier  returned  home  ;  but  the  afternoon  v, 
far  spent  that  he  wa<  able  to  get  in  only  one  ton  of 
his  hay,  leaving  the  other  three  tons  out,  to  take  the 
chance  «»f  the  weather.  He  and  his  wife  spent  the 
-.ing  in  discussing  what  course  was  best  to  pursue 
with  regard  to  the  complaint  against  ^Ir.  Guttridge; 
but,  notwithstanding  his  wife  was  decidedly  in  favor 
of  his  going  the  next  niornin;:  and  entering  the  com- 


140 

plaint,  since  Mrs.  Guttridge  had  consented,  yet  Mr. 
Frier  was  undecided.  He  did  not  like  to  do  it ;  Mr. 
Guttridge  was  a  neighbor,  and  it  was  an  unpleasant 
business.  But  when  he  arose  the  next  morning,  looked 
out,  and  beheld  his  three  tons  of  hay  drenched  with 
a  heavy  rain,  and  a  prospect  of  a  continued  storm,  he 
was  not  long  in  making  up  his  mind. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  I  spent  a  good  part  of  the  day, 
yesterday,  in  looking  after  Guttridge's  family,  to  keep 
them  from  starving;  and  now,  by  this  means,  I've 
nigh  about  as  good  as  lost  three  tons  of  hay.  I 
don't  think  it's  my  duty  to  put  up  with  it  any 
longer." 

Accordingly,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Mr. 
Frier  was  out,  spattering  along  in  the  mud  and  rain, 
with  his  old  great-coat  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  the 
sleeves  flapping  loosely  down  by  his  side,  and  his 
drooping  hat  twisted  awry,  wending  his  way  to  Court, 
to  appear  before  the  Grand  Jury. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Frier,  what  do  you  want  ?"  asked  the 
foreman,  as  the  complainant  entered  the  room. 

"I  come  to  complain  of  Jerry  Guttrid^v  to  the 
Grand  Jury,"  replied  Mr.  Frier,  taking  oft1  his  hat, 
and  shaking  the  rain  frnin  it. 

"Why,  what  has  Jerry  Guttridge  done?"  said  the 


•  i  i:  i:  K  v     «,  r  T  TBID<  141 

foreman.  "I  didn't  think  lie  had  life  enough  to  do 
anything  worth  complaining  of  to  the  Grand 
Jury." 

"  It's  because  he  has  ii>t  got  life  enough  to  do  any 
thing,"  said  Mr.  Frier,  "that  I've  come  to  complain 
of  him.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Foreman,  he's  a  lazy,  idle 
fellow,  and  won't  work,  nor  provide  notliin'  for  his 
family  to  eat;  and  they've  been  half  starving  this 
long  time;  and  the  neighbors  have  had  to  keep 
sending  in  something  all  the  time,  to  keep  'em 
alive." 

"  But,"  said  the  foreman,  "  Jerry's  a  peaceable  kind 
of  a  chap,  Mr.  Frier  ;  has  anybody  ever  talked  to  him 
about  it  in  a  neighborly  way,  and  advised  him  to  do 
differently  I  And  maybe  he  has  no  chance  to  work 
where  he  could  get  anything  for  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  replied  Mr.  Frier,  "  that  heV 
been  talked  to  a  great  deal,  and  it  don't  do  no  good  ; 
and  1  tried  hard  to  get  him  to  work  l«>r  me  yesterday 
afternoon,  and  offered  to  give  him  victuals  enough  to 
last  his  family  'most  a  week,  hut  I  couldn't  get  him 
to,  and  la-  went  off  to  the  grog-shop  to  see  some 
jockeys  swop  horses.  And  when  1  told  him.  calmlv, 
I  did  n't  think  he  wa<  in  the  \vav  «•!'  his  duty,  lie  tlew 
in  a  passion,  and  railed  me  an  old,  miserable,  dirty, 


14:2  'WAY     DO  w  N     i:  AST. 

meddling  vagabond,  and  a  scoundrel,  and  a  scape- 
gallows,  and  an  infernal  small  piece  of  a  man !" 

"  Abominable  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  jury  ;  "  who 
ever  heard  of  such  outrageous  conduct  ?" 

"  What  a  vile,  blasphemous  wretch !"  exclaimed 
another  ;  "  I  shouldn't  a  wondered  if  he'd  a  fell  dead 
on  the  spot." 

The  foreman  asked  Mr.  Frier  if  Jerry  had  "  ttttd 
them  very  words." 

"  Exactly  them  words,  every  one  of  'em,"  said  Mr. 
Frier. 

"  "Well,"  said  the  foreman,  "  then  there  is  no  more 
to  be  said.  Jerry  certainly  deserves  to  be  indicted, 
it'  anybody  in  this  world  ever  did." 

Accordingly  the  indictment  was  drawn  up,  a  war 
rant  was  issued,  and  the  next  day  Jerry  was  brought 
before  the  Court  to  answer  to  llu«  charges  preferred 
against  him.  Mrs.  Sally  Guttridge  and  Mr.  Xat. 
Frier  were  summoned  as  witnesses.  When  the 
honorable  Court  was  ready  to  hear  the  case,  the  clerk 
called  Jerry  Guttridge,  and  bade  him  to  hearken  to 
an  indictment  found  against  him  by  the  grand  inquest 
for  the  District  of  Maine,  now  sitting  at  Saco,  in  the 
words  following,  viz :— 

"We  present  Jerry  Guttridge  for  an  idle  person, 


:;  i:  v     .,1111:1  D 

and     n»>t     providing    fur    his    family:     and     gi\ 
ivpr-.acht'nl    lan_  •   Mr.    Nat.    Frier,    when   lie 

repn-ved   him   fur  his   idleness."     "Jerry   Guttri 
what  say  you  to  this  indictment?     Are  you  guilty 
there''!1,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

••  Nut  guilty,"  ^id  .Jerry,  "  and  here's  my  wife  can 
tell  you  the  >ame  any  day.  Sally,  haven't  I  always 
pr-.vided  fur  my  family  '." 

"Why,  ye>,"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge,  "  I  don't  kimw 
hut  yuii  have  a--  well  as  "• 

"Stop,  stop!"  said  the  Judge,  looking  down  over 
the  top  of  his  spectacles  at  the  witness;  U8top^ 
Guttridge ;  you  must  not  answer  questions  until  you 
have' been  sworn." 

The  ( -«»urt  then  direct»-d  the  clerk  to  swear  the  wit 
nesses;  whcivupMn,  he  called  Nat.  Frier  and  Sally 
Guttridge  to  come  forward,  and  hold  up  their  right 
hands.  Mr.  Frier  advanced,  with  a  ivady,  hum-t  air, 
and  held  u\>  his  hand.  Mrs.  Guttridge  lingered  a 
little  behind:  but  when  at  last  >he  faltered  al" 
with  feeble  and  hesitating  step,  and  held  up  her  thin, 
trembling  hand,  and  raised  her  pah-  him-  ryes,  half 
swimming  in  trars.  t-. wards  the  Cuiirt.  an«l  i-xhihiti-d 
her  care-wurn  teatun--,  which,  thuiigli  sun-l»urn»-d, 
6  pale  and  sickly,  the  Judge  had  in  his  uwn  11: 


more  than  half  decided  the  case  against  Jerry.  The 
witnesses  having  been  sworn,  Mrs.  Guttridge  was 
called  to  the  stand. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Guttridge,"  said  the  Judge,  u  you  are 
not  obliged  to  testify  against  your  husband  any  more 
than  you  choose  ;  your  testimony  must  be  voluntary. 
The  Court  will  ask  you  questions  touching  the  case, 
and  you  may  answer  them  or  not,  as  you  think  best. 
And,  in  the  first  place,  I  will  ask  you  whether  your 
husband  neglects  to  provide  for  the  necessary  wants 
of  his  family;  and  whether  you  do,  or  do  not,  have  com 
fortable  food  and  clothing  for  yourself  and  children  ?" 

"  Well,  we  go  pretty  hungry  a  good  deal  of  the 
time,"  said  Mrs.  Guttridge,  trembling ;  "  but  I  don't 
know  but  Mr.  Giittridge  does  the  best  he  can  about 
it.  There  don't  seem  to  be  any  victuals  that  he  can 
get,  a  good  deal  of  the  time." 

"  Well,  is  he,  or  is  he  not,  in  the  habit  of  spending 
his  time  idly  when  he  might  be  at  work,  and  earning 
something  for  his  family  to  live  upon  ?" 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  the  witness,  "  Mr.  Gut 
tridge  don't  work  much ;  but  I  don't  know  as  he  can 
help  it ;  it  does  n't  seem  to  be  his  natur'  to  work. 
Somehow,  he  don't  seem  to  be  made  like  other  folks ; 
for  if  he  tries  ever  so  much,  he  can't  never  work  but 


.1  K  i:  u  v     »,  i    i  i  i:  I  i>GE. 

a  few  minutes  at  a  time  ;  the  natur'  don't  seem  to  be 
in  him." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  Judge,  casting  a  dignified 
and  judicial  glance  at  the  culprit,  who  stood  with  his 
mouth  wide  open,  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  Court  with  an 
intentness  that  showed  he  began  to  take  some  interest 
in  the  matter  ;  "  well,  well,  perhaps  the  Court  will  be 
able  to  put  the  natur'  in  him." 

Mrs.  Guttridge  was  directed  to  step  aside,  and  Mr. 
Nat.  Frier  was  called  to  the  stand.  His  testimony 
was  very  much  to  the  point ;  clear  and  conclusive. 
But  as  the  reader  is  already  in  possession  of  the  sub 
stance  of  it,  it  is  unnecessary  to  recapitulate  it. 
S u ilico  it  to  say,  that  when  he  was  called  upon  to 
repeat  the  reproachful  language  which  Jerry  had 
bestowed  upon  the  witiu-ss,  there  was  much  shudder 
ing,  and  an  awful  rolling  of  eyes,  throughout  the 
court  room.  Even  the  prisoner's  face  kindled  almost 
up  to  a  blaze,  and  thick  drops  of  sweat  were  seen  to 
start  from  his  forehead.  The  Judge,  to  be  sure, 
ictained  a  dignified  self-possession,  and  settling  back 
in  his  chair,  said  it  was  not  necessary  to  question  the 
witness  any  further;  the  case  was  clearly  made  out; 
Jerry  (i utt ridge  was  unquestionably  guilty  of  the 
charges  preferred  against  him. 


14:6  WAV      D  O  \V  N      EAST. 

The  Court,  out  of  delicacy  toward  the  feelings  of 
his  wife,  refrained  from  pronouncing  sentence  until 
she  had  retired,  which  she  did  on  an  intimation  being 
given  her  that  the  case  was  closed,  and  she  could 
return  home.  Jerry  was  then  called  and  ordered  to 
hearken  to  his  sentence,  as  the  Court  had  recorded  it. 

Jerry  stood  up  and  faced  the  Court,  with  fixed  eyes 
and  gaping  mouth,  and  the  clerk  repeated  as  fol 
lows  : — 

"  Jerry  Guttridge  !  you  have  been  found  guilty  of 
being  an  idle  and  lazy  person,  and  not  providing  for 
your  family,  and  giving  reproachful  language  to  Mr. 
Nat.  Frier,  when  he  reproved  you  for  your  idleness. 
The  Court  orders  that  you  receive  twenty  smart  lashes, 
with  the  cat-o'-nine-tails,  upon  your  naked  back,  and 
that  this  sentence  be  executed  forthwith,  by  the  con 
stables,  at  the  whipping-post  in  the  yard  adjoining 
the  court-house." 

Jerry  dropped  his  head,  and  his  face  assumed  divers 
deep  colors,  sometimes  red,  and  sometimes  shading 
upon  the  blue.  He  tried  to  glance  round  upon  the 
assembled  multitude,  but  his  look  was  very  sheepish  ; 
and,  unable  to  stand  the  gaze  of  the  hundreds  of  eyes 
that  were  upon  him,  he  settled  back  on  a  bench,  lean 
ed  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  looked  steadily  upon  the 


JERRY     OUTTRIDOK.  117 

floor.  The  constables  having  been  directed  by  the 
Court  to  proceed  forthwith  to  execute  the  sentence, 
they  led  him  out  into  the  yard,  put  his  arms  round 
the  whip] i ing-post,  and  tied  his  hands  together.  He 
submitted  without  resistance;  but  when  they  com 
menced  tying  his  hands  round  the  post,  he  began  to 
cry  and  beg,  and  promised  better  fashions  if  they 
would  only  let  him  go  this  time.  But  the  constables 
told  him  it  was  too  late  now ;  the  sentence  of  the  Court 
had  been  passed,  and  the  punishment  must  be  inflict 
ed.  The  whole  throng  of  spectators  had  issued  from 
the  court-house,  and  stood  r«>und  in  a  large  ring,  to 
see  the  sentence  enforced.  The  Judge  himself  had 
stepped  to  a  side  window,  which  commanded  a  view 
of  the  yard,  and  stn.nl  peering  solemnly  through  his 
spectacles  to  see  that  the  eercniuny  wa<  duly  perform 
ed.  All  things  lii-ing  in  readiness,  the  stoutest  con 
stable  tnnk  the  cat-o'-nine-tails,  and  laid  the  blows 
heavily  across  the  naked  hack  of  the  victim.  Nearly 
y  blow  brought  blood,  and  as  they  successively 
1  'ell.  Jerry  jumped  and  screamed,  s<»  that  he  might 
have  been  heard  \\vll-nigh  a  mile.  AVhen  the  twenty 
blnws  were  counted,  and  the  ceremony  was  ended,  he 
was  loosed  from  his  confinement,  and  t«>ld  that  lie 
might  go.  He  put  on  his  garments,  with  a  sullen  but 


148 

subdued  air,  and  without  stopping  to  pay  his  respects 
to  the  Court,  or  even  to  bid  any  one  good-by,  he 
straightened  for  home  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 

Mrs.  Guttridge  met  him  at  the  door,  with  a  kind 
and  piteous  look,  and  asked  him  if  they  hurt  him. 
He  made  no  reply,  but  pushed  along  into  the  house. 
There  he  found  the  table  set,  and  well  supplied,  for 
dinner ;  for  Mrs.  Guttridge,  partly  through  the  kind 
ness  of  Mr.  Frier,  and  partly  from  her  own  exertions, 
had  managed  to  "  pick  up  something  "  that  served  to 
make  quite  a  comfortable  meal.  Jerry  ate  his  dinner 
in  silence,  but  his  wife  thought  he  manifested  more 
tenderness  and  less  selfishness  than  she  had  known 
him  to  exhibit  for  several  years ;  for,  instead  of  appro 
priating  the  most  and  the  best  of  the  food  to  himself, 
he  several  times  placed  fair  proportions  of  it  upon  the 
plates  of  his  wife  and  each  of  the  children. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  sun  had  dried  the  dew 
from  the  grass,  whoever  passed  the  haying  field  of 
Mr.  Nat.  Frier  might  have  beheld  Jerry  Guttridge 
busily  at  work,  shaking  out  the  wet  hay  to  the  sun  ; 
and  for  a  month  afterward  the  passer-by  might  have 
seen  him  every  day,  early  and  late,  in  that  and  the 
adjoining  fields,  a  perfect  pattern  of  industry. 

A  change  soon  became  perceptible  in  the  condition 


T  T  K  I  DOE.  149 

mid  circumstances  of  his  family .  His  house  began  to 
wear  more  of  an  air  of  comfort,  outride  ami  in.  His 
wife  improved  in  health  and  spirits,  and  little  Bobby 
became  a  fat,  hearty  boy,  ami  grew  like  a  pumpkin. 
i  vcars  afterward  Mrs.  Guttridge  was  heard  to  say 
that,  "somehow,  ever  since  that 'ere  trial,  Mr.  Gut- 
tridge's  natur'  seemed  to  be  entirely  changed." 


150  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


CHAPTER  YH. 

SEATING    THE    PARISH. 

"  Order,  ia  Heaven's  first  law  ;  and  this  confess'd, 
Some  are,  and  must  be,  greater  than  the  rest." 

So  thought  the  good  people  of  the  old  town  of 
Brookhaven,  about  a  hundred  and  forty  years  ago, 
when  they  enacted  the  law  for  for  seating  the  parish 
at  church.  Do  any  of  our  distant  readers  want  infor 
mation  as  to  the  locality  and  geography  of  Brookhaven  ? 
"We  may  as  well  premise  in  the  outset,  that  it  is  on 
Long  island,  some  sixty  miles  or  so  from  the  city  of 
New  York,  and  is  the  largest  town  in  territory  in 
Suffolk  County,  containing  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  acres,  and  stretching  across  the  whole  width 
of  the  island.  It  contains  seven  or  eight  thousand 
inhabitants,  who  are  distributed  in  several  villains 
al otig  the  shores  of  the  Sound  and  tlie  Atlantic,  while  the 
middle  portions  of  the  town  still  remain  covered  with 
pine  forests,  abounding  with  doer  and  other  wild  ^:UIK>. 

The  early  settlers  of  this  part  of  Long  Island  were 


SEATING     THE     PARI  151 

t'n.m  New  England,  and  the  inhabitants  still 
ivtuin   much  ut'   the   primitive    Puritan   character  of 
their  t'nivtathers.     A  company   fmm  Boston  and  its 
vicinity,  commenced  a  settlement   in    r.ronkhaveii  as 
carlv  as  M.xteeii   hundred   and    iii'ty-iive  ;  and   in   ten 
years  the  settlement  had  increased  so  much,  that  they 
called  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to  come  and  reside 
among  them.     Their  choice  of  pastor  was,  of  course, 
from  the  good  old  Pilgrim  stock ;  for  where  else  could 
they  go?     There  was  no  other  race  among  men  or 
under  heaven,  according  to  their  ideas,  "  whereby  t 
could  be  saved."   Accordingly,  they  settled  as  their  first 
minister,  Kev.  [Nathan  Brewster,  a  grandson  of  Elder 
AVilliam  Brewster,  wJio  came  over  in  tJ<-   M<>>/  Flower. 
Thus  having  proved  the  origin  of  the  good  people 
of  Brookhaven,  it  follows  as  a  matter  of  course,  that 
they  were  not  only  a  pious  people,  a  church-going 
people,  but  also  great  lovers  of  order  and  decorum. 
Happily,  so  important  a  conclusion  does  not  rest  for 
its  authority  on  mere  inference  alone;  it  is  sustained 
l.v  ample  and  positive  proof  in  the  shape  of  duly 
authenticated  records. 

Like  most  new  and  remote  settlements,  the  t«>\vn 
might,  t'ur  smiie  time,  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  inde 
pendent  democracy.  The  people  met  together  in  a 


152  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

body,  and  adopted  rules,  and  made  laws,  and  elected 
magistrates  and  other  officers,  to  see  the  laws  properly 
executed.  Their  attendance  at  church,  also,  was,  for 
many  years,  conducted  very  much  on  the  democratic 
principle.  Indeed  this  is  most  usually  the  case  with 
churches  in  all  new  settlements.  The  meeting-house, 
as  well  as  the  nation,  experiences  its  revolutions,  and 
in  the  progress  of  society,  passes  through  all  the  regu 
lar  forms  of  government. 

It  has  its  period  of  pure  democracy  ;  when  the  tem 
ple  is  a  humble,  unfinished  structure,  with  open  doors 
and  windows,  and  the  people  come  and  go  at  all  times 
during  the  hours  of  worship,  as  best  suits  their  plea 
sure.  Then  it  is,  that  the  congregation  sit  on  stout 
longitudinal  planks  supported  by  blocks  of  wood,  and 
on  transverse  boards  resting  on  the  aforesaid  planks. 
These  planks  and  boards  being  common  property,  vested 
in  the  body  politic,  the  respective  seats,  on  the  Sab 
bath,  are  seized  and  rightfully  held,  like  a  newly  dis 
covered  country,  by  the  first  occupant ;  thus  affording 
a  practical  illustration  at  the  same  time  both  of  their 
political  and  religious  faith,  viz.  :  -that  the  people  of 
the  parish  are  all  equal,  and  that  God  is  no  respecter 
of  persons. 

In  progress  of  time,  the  meeting-house  glides  natu- 


SEATING     T1IE     PA1USII.  153 

rally  into  the  aristocratic  form  of  government.  Wealth 
has  begun  to  make  distinctions  in  society.  A  better 
building  is  erected,  or  the  old  one  repaired  and  put  in 
a  condition  more  suitable  to  the  times.  Permanent 
lixtures  take  the  place  of  the  loose  planks  and  boards, 
and  low  partition  walls  divide  the  floor  into  distinct 
compartments.  This  revolution  has  been  brought  on 
and  carried  out  by  the  wealth  of  the  few  who  had  the 
means  to  sustain  it,  and  they  in  return  receive  the 
honors  and  distinctions  usually  bestowed  on  the  suc 
cessful  leaders  of  a  revolution.  The  many  look  up  to 
them  with  reverence,  and  stand  hack  and  give  place 
to  them  whenever  they  appear.  The  allairs  of  the 
meeting-house  are  now  principally  under  their  manage 
ment  and  control,  and  having  taken  possession  of  t lie 
most  honorable  seats,  and  provided  that  the  most 
il.le  among  the  mass  should  take  the  seats  of 
the  next  highe>t  grade,  the  remainder  of  the  house  is 
left  free  l'»r  promiscuous  occupation. 

n  pass  on  ;  and  l»v  the  diffusion  of  wealth  and 
knowledge,  and  the  increase  of  number*,  the  society 
beeomfte  ripe  for  another  revolution.  Then  perhaps 
comes  on  a  sort  of  constitutional  government,  not 
unlike  that  of  our  great  Republican  Union.  A  taste 
ful  and  costly  church  is  erected,  and  the  snug  and 

7* 


154  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

elegant  family  pew  succeeds  to  the  former  rude 
compartments.  Each  pew,  like  a  sovereign  and 
independent  State,  is  governed  by  the  head  of  the 
family,  who  has  entire  control  over  all  matters  of  its 
internal  police,  subject,  however,  at  all  times,  to  the 
general  and  common  laws  of  the  society. 

The  illustration  of  our  subject,  drawn  from  the 
history  of  the  good  old  town  of  Brookhaven,  is 
derived  from  that  period  when  the  meeting-house  was 
undergoing  a  change  from  a  democratic  to  an  aristo 
cratic  form  of  government.  The  building  had  been 
much  improved,  mainly  by  the  generous  liberality  of 
Colonel  Smith,  who  had  poured  out  his  treasure  like 
water,  to  accomplish  so  laudable  an  object.  By  the 
thorough  renovation  it  underwent  at  this  time,  includ 
ing  the  applications  of  yellow  ochre  and  oil,  and  the 
change  of  loose  planks  and  boards  for  permanent 
seats,  the  meeting-house  was  much  modernized,  and 
exhibited  a  very  respectable  appearance.  In  front  of 
the  pulpit  stood  a  large  table  of  about  twelve  feet  by 
four,  around  which,  on  communion  days,  the  church 
gathered  to  partake  of  the  supper.  At  the  regular 
Sabbath  services,  the  upper  members  of  the  parish, 
including,  of  course,  Colonel  Smith  and  his  family, 
seated  themselves  at  the  table,  as  l.ring  the  most 


SEATING     TIM-:     PAB18H.  155 

honorable  seat,  on  account  of  ita  vicinity  to  the  pul 
pit,  and  tlif  convenience  it  afforded  as  a  resting-place 
for  psalm-bonks  and  psalters.  The  rest  of  the  floor 
of  the  meeting-housi-  was  divided  into  fifteen  different 
apartments,  of  an  oblong,  bed-room  sort  of  size  and 
shape,  which  were  denominated  pews. 

But  it  is  hard  to  bring  the  mass  of  community  to 
adopt  great  changes  or  innovations  in  government,  or 
the  habits  of  society.  When  our  excellent  federal 
Constitution  was  framed,  it  was  a  long  time  before  a 
majority  of  the  people  of  all  the  States  could  be 
induced  to  fall  in  with  it,  and  receive  it  as  their  form 
of  government.  So  it  was  with  the  parish  of  Brook- 
haven.  They  had  been  accustomed,  from  time 
immemorial,  to  sit  promiscuously  in  all  parts  of  the 
meeting-house  wherever  they  pleased,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  but  little  dispositon  on  the  part  of  the 
mass  of  the  parish,  to  break  over  the  old  habit.  The 
society  had  become  numerous,  and  contained  many 
noisy  and  roguish  boys,  and  not  a  few  thoughtless  and 
frolicking  y«»ung  men.  Scenes  of  indecorum  and 
(•..illusion  occurred  almost  every  Sal»l»ath,  greatly  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  more  sober  part  of  the  COIL 
gation,  and  sometimes  to  the  interruption  of  the 
ceremonial  of  worship. 


156 

At  last  good  Parson  Phillips  had  to  stop  short  one 
day  in  the  midst  of  his  sermon.  He  stood  silent  for 
the  space  of  a  minute,  looking  sternly  at  pews 
number  four  and  six,  and  then,  shaking  his  finger 
solemnly  in  that  direction,  he  said : 

"  If  the  boys  in  pew  number  four  will  stop  that 
crowding  and  shuffling  their  feet,  and  the  young  men 
in  pew  number  six  will  cease  their  whispering  with 
the  young  women,  the  sermon  can  go  on ;  if  not,  not." 

The  whole  congregation  looked  thunderstruck. 
The  old  men  turned  their  heads  towards  the  two  pews 
and  then  towards  the  minister,  and  then  towards  the 
pews  again.  Deacon  Jones,  coloring  with  indigna 
tion,  rose  on  his  feet,  and  glanced  round  with  a  look 
of  awful  rebuke  upon  pew  number  six;  and  Mr. 
"Wigglesworth,  who  was  seated  at  the  table,  went 
directly  into  pew  number  four,  and  seizing  two  of 
the  boys  by  the  shoulders  in  the  thickest  of  the 
crowd,  dragged  them  out  of  the  pew,  and  set  them 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs.  These  decided 
demonstrations  in  favor  of  good  order  were  not  with 
out  their  influence,  and  the  services  again  proceeded 
without  any  material  interruption  till  the  close. 
When  Parson  Phillips  was  about  to  pronounce  the 
benediction,  Deacon  Jones  was  observed  to  rise  sooner 


SEATING     Tin:      PABI4H.  157 

than  he  was  accustomed  to  do,  and  before  any  of  the 
rest  of  the  congregation  ;  ami  ho  was  observed,  also, 
to  stand  during  that  ceremony,  with  his  hark  to  the 
minister,  and  looking  round  upon  the  audience,  a 
tiling  which  he  was  never  seen  to  do  before.  The 
congregation,  therefore,  were  prepared  to  expect 
something  out  of  the  usual  course,  from  Deacon 
Jones.  As  soon  as  the  an ien  had  dropped  from  the 
minister's  lips,  the  deacon  stretched  out  his  hand,  and 
began  to  address  the  audience. 

"  I   think,"   said   he,  "  the  scenes  we  have   wit 
nessed  here  to-day,  as  well  as  on  several  Sabbat  1  is 
heretofore,  admonish  us  that  we  have  a  duty  to  per 
form  which  has  been  too  long  neglected.     If  we  have 
any  regard  for  our  character,  as  an  orderly  and  well- 
behaved  people  ;  if  we  have  any  reject  for  the  house, 
«.t'  ( ;«>d,  and  the  holy  religion  we  profess,  I  think  it  is 
high  time  we  took  a  decided  stand,  and  adopted  some 
strong  measures  to  secure  order  and  decorum  during 
tlu-   hours  of  public  worship.     I  feel  impelled    !,y  a 
N  of  duty  to  invite  a  general  meeting  to  be  held 
at  this  place  to-morrow,  to  take   tin-  Mihjcct   into  con- 
-ideration.      And  I  hope  that  all  tlu-  head-  <•!'  families 
in  town,  and  all  who  vote  and  pay  fcaxe*,  will  meet 
here  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock  for  this  purpose." 


158 

Colonel  Smith  spoke,  and  said  he  approved  of  the 
suggestion  of  Deacon  Jones,  and  hoped  there  would 
be  a  general  attendance.  The  congregation  then  dis 
persed,  some  moving  silently  and  thoughtfully  home 
ward,  and  some  loitering  by  the  way  and  leaning  over 
the  fences,  in  companies  of  three  or  four  together,  and 
discussing  earnestly  the  events  of  the  day,  and  pro 
posing  plans  to  be  presented  at  the  meeting  to 
morrow. 

Punctually  at  ten  o'clock,  the  next  day,  there  was 
a  very  general  gathering  of  the  inhabitants  at  the 
meeting-house.  On  motion  of  Deacon  Jones,  Colonel 
Smith  was  unanimously  appointed  "  moderator,"  or 
chairman  of  the  meeting,  and  on  assuming  the  chair, 
he  stated  in  a  few  pertinent  remarks,  the  general 
object  of  the  meeting,  and  said  they  were  now  ready 
to  hear  any  observations  or  suggestions  on  the  subject. 
A  minute  or  two  passed  in  perfect  silence,  and  no  one 
seemed  disposed  to  rise.  At  last,  the  chairman  said, 
perhaps  Squire  Tallmadge  would  favor  the  meeting 
with  his  views  of  the  matter.  The  eyes  of  all  were 
now  turned  toward  Squire  Tallmadge,  who  after  a 
little  pause,  rose  slowly,  and  addressed  the  chair  as 
follows. 

"  For  one,  Mr.  Moderator,  I  feel  the  importance  of 


SEATING     THE     PARISH. 


159 


the  subject  upon  which  we  are  met;  and  for  one,  I 
am  prepared  to  go  into  strong  measures  to  remedy 
the  evil,  which  has  been  so  common  of  late.     The 
evil  is  great,  and  must  be  corrected.     We  had  a 
specimen  yesterday  of  the  noise  and  indecorum  which 
sometimes  interrupts  the  course   of  worship.      And 
that  is  not  all,  nor  the  worst  of  it.     The  young  men 
and  the  boys  have  got  in  the  habit  of  going  in  early 
sometimes,  before  services  begin,  and  crowding  into 
tlu'  best  seats,  and  occupying  the  chairs  round  the 
table ;  so  that  the  older  people,  the  pillars  of  the 
church,  and  those  who  bear  most  of  the  expense  of 
supporting  the  gospel,  have  to  go  into  the  back  seats 
or  stow  themselves  round  in  the  corners,  wherever 
they  can  find  a  chance.     This  is  the  difficulty,  and  it 
seems  to  me  the  remedy  would  lie  in  some  entirely 
new  arrangement  for  seating  the  parish.     I  think  the 
inhabitants  should  be  properly  divided  into  classes, 
and  each  class  assigned  to  a  different  pow,  having 
reference  to  the  rank  and  respectability  of  each  class, 
and  the  respective  proportions  they  contribute  to  the 
support  of  the  gospel." 

As  Squire  Tallmadge  sat  down,  Mr.  Wipgleswnrth 
and  Doctor  Wetmore  rose  nearly  at  the  same  i 
The  chair  finally  decided  that  Mr.  Wigglesworth  had 


160  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

the  floor,  whereupon  Mr.  Wigglesworth  made  the 
following  remarks. 

"Mr.  Moderator;  I  agree  with  all  that  Squire 
Tallmadge  has  said,  exactly ;  only  I  don't  think  he's 
stated  the  audacious  conduct  half  strong  enough.  I 
think,  if  the  young  men  have  courting  to  do,  they 
should  do  it  at  home  and  not  in  church.  Why,  Mr. 
Moderator,  I've  seen  a  young  man,  that  I  won't  call 
by  name,  now,  though  he's  here  in  this  meeting, 
set  with  his  arm  round  the  girl  that  sot  next  to 
him  half  sermon  time."  Here  the  heads  of  the 
audience  were  turned  in  various  directions,  'till 
their  eyes  rested  on  four  or  five  young  men,  who, 
with  unusual  modesty,  had  taken  some  of  the  back 
seats,  and  one  of  whom  was  observed  to  color 
deeply. 

"  I  think,"  continued  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  "  the 
people  at  church  ought  to  be  sifted  out,  and  divided, 
each  sort  by  itself.  What's  the  use  of  having  these 
'ere  pews,  if  it  aint  to  divide  the  people  into  them 
according  to  their  sorts?  I  have  a  calf-pen  and  a 
sheep-pen  in  my  barn-yard,  and  I  put  the  calves  into 
one,  and  the  sheep  into  'tother,  and  then  I  put  the 
bars  up,  and  don't  let  'em  run  back  and  forth  into 
each  other's  pen,  jest  as  they  are  a  mind  to.  I've 


SEATING     THK      1'ARIBII.  161 

no  more  to  say,  Mr.  Moderator,  only  I  hope 
now  we've  begun,  we  shall  make  thorough  work 
of  it." 

Doctor  Wetinore  then  rose,  and  made  a  few  remarks. 
IK-  fully  agreed  with  the  suggest  inns  thrown  out  by 
Squire  Tallmadge.  He  had  witnessed  the  evils  com 
plained  of,  and  had  been  mortified  by  them  a  good 
many  times ;  and  he  believed  the  proper  remedy 
would  be,  as  Squire  Tallmadge  suggested,  in  some 
thorough  change  and  some  regular  system,  with 
regard  to  seating  the  parish  at  church.  He  would 
move  therefore,  that  the  subject  be  referred  to  the 
trustees,  or  selectmen  of  the  town,  and  that  the;. 
requested  to  draw  np  an  ordinance,  to  be  adopted  as  a 
town  law  for  seating  the  people  in  a  proper  and 
orderly  manner  at  church,  according  to  their  proper 
rank,  and  also  having  special  reference  to  the 
sums  contributed  by  each  for  the  support  of  the 
gospel. 

Mr.  Wiggles  worth  seconded  the  motion,  and  it  was 
put  and  carried  unanimously.  Deacon  Jones  then 
niovrd  that  the  trustees  he  requested  to  give  thorough 

ution   to  the   work   the   present    week,  and    bi 
their   ordinance    in   the   next   Sabbath    morning,  and 
have  it  road  from  the  pulpit,  and  go  into  immediate 


162 

operation.  This  motion  was  also  seconded  and  carried, 
and  the  meeting  adjourned. 

This  week  was  an  anxious  week  at  Brookhaven,  and 
one  on  wliich  an  unusual  amount  of  talking  was  done. 
The  subject  was  canvassed  and  discussed  in  every  pos 
sible  shape  by  all  classes  and  in  all  families.  The  old 
ladies  were  rejoicing  at  the  prospect  of  more  quiet 
and  orderly  meetings,  and  the  young  ladies  were  in 
fidgets  to  know  where  they  were  to  sit.  Several  per 
sons  came  forward  with  surprising  liberality  during 
this  week,  and  added  ten,  fifteen,  and  some  as  high  as 
twenty  shillings,  to  their  annual  subscription,  for  the 
support  of  the  ministry. 

At  last,  the  important  Sunday  morning  came  round. 
It  was  a  pleasant  morning,  and  the  people  went 
uncommonly  early  to  church,  and  the  meeting-house 
was  fuller  than  it  had  beeu  seen  for  many  months 
before.  None,  however,  seemed  disposed  to  take 
seats  as  they  entered,  and  all  were  standing,  when 
Parson  Phillips  came  in.  When  the  Reverend  gen 
tleman  came  up  to  the  pulpit,  the  chairman  of  the 
trustees  handed  him  the  ordinance,  and  ivjiuMcd  him 
to  read  it  from  the  pulpit,  in  order  that  the  parish 
might  be  seated  accordingly  before  the  services  com 
menced. 


SEATING     Till-:      r.\i:iSH.  163 

Parson  Phillip-  accordingly  ascended  the  pulpit, 
ami  unfolded  the  paper,  and  while  the  whole  oaog» 
gation  stood  in  profound  silence,  with  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  speaker,  he  read  as  follows. 

"At  a  meeting  of  the  Trustees  of  Brookl^ 
August  6,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  three  : 
Whereas,  there  hath  been  several  rude  a  jtioiffl  oflftte 
happened  in  our  church  by  reason  of  people  not  bei un 
seated,  which  is  much  to  the  dishonor  of  God  and  the 
discouragement  of  virtue;  For  preventing  the  like 
again,  it  is  ordered,  that  the  inhabitants  be  seated 
after  the  manner  and  form  following  :  All  freehold- 
•hat  have  or  shall  subscribe  within  a  month  to  pay 
forty  shillings  to  Mr.  Phillips  towards  his  salary  shall 
l»e  seated  at  the  table,  and  that  no  women  are  permit 
ted  to  set  there,  except  Colonel  Smith's  lady,  nor  any 
womankind;  And  that  the  President  for  the  time 
beiuir  ^hall  sit  in  the  right-hand  seat  under  the  pulpit, 
and  the  clerk  on  the  left ;  the  trustees  in  the  front 
seat,  and  the  Justices  that  are  inhabitants  of  the  town 
are  to  be  seated  at  the  table,  whether  they  pay  t 
shillings  or  less.  And  the  pew  number  one,  all  such 
persons  as  have  or  shall  subscribe  twenty  shillings:  and 
the  pew  number  two,  such  as  subscribe  to  pay  fif: 


164: 


WAY     DOWN      EAST. 


shillings  ;  in  pew  number  three,  such  as  subscribe  to 
pay  ten  shillings  ;  number  four,  eight  shillings  ;  num 
ber  five,  twelve  shillings  ;  number  six,  nine  shillings; 
number  seven,  for  the  young  men  ;  number  eight,  for 
the  boys ;  number  nine,  for  ministers'  widows  and 
wives ;  and  for  those  women  whose  husbands  pay 
forty  shillings,  to  sit  according  to  their  age  ;  number 
eleven,  for  those  men's  wives  that  pay  from  twenty 
to  fifteen  shillings.  The  alley  fronting  the  pews  to  be 
for  such  maids  whose  parents  or  selves  shall  subscribe, 
for  two,  six  shillings  ;  number  twelve,  for  those  men's 
wives  who  pay  from  ten  to  fifteen  shillings ;  number 
thirteen,  for  maids ;  number  fourteen,  for  girls ;  and 
number  fifteen,  for  any.  Captain  Clark  and  Joseph 
Tooker  to  settle  the  inhabitants  according  to  the  above 
orders."  * 

When  the  reading  was  finished,  Captain  Clark  and 
Mr.  Tooker  entered  upon  the  duties  of  their  office  ; 
and  after  about  an  hour's  marching  and  countcr- 
inarching,  and  whispering,  and  pulling  and  hauling, 
and  referring  to  the  parish  subscription  books,  the 
congregation  was  seated,  quiet  was  restored,  and  the 
services  of  the  day  were  performed  without  interrup- 

*  True  extract  from  old  records. 


SEATINu      TIM        I-A.RI8H.  165 

The  next  SaM»ath,  cadi  one  know  his  own 
place,  and  the  new  order  of  things  was  found  to  work 
well,  and  answered  a  good  purpose  for  many  long 
years  after  that,  'till  in  the  progress  of  human  events 
the  parish  became  ripe  for  another  reform. 


166 


CHAPTEK  Yin. 

THE    MONEY-DIGGERS    AND    OLD    NICK. 

THIS  is  a  money  digging  world  of  ours ;  and,  as  it 
is  said,  "  there  are  more  ways  than  one  to  skin  a  cat," 
so  are  there  more  ways  than  one  of  digging  for  money. 
But,  in  some  mode  or  other,  this  seems  to  be  the  uni 
versal  occupation  of  the  sons  of  Adam.  Show  me 
the  man  who  does  not  spend  one  half  of  his  life  long 
in  digging  for  money,  and  I  will  show  you  an  anomaly 
in  the  human  species.  "Hunger  will  break  through 
a  stone  wall,"  but  love  of  money  will  compass  earth 
and  sea,  and  even  brave  heaven  and  hell,  in  pursuit 
of  its  object.  The  dark  and  bloody  highwayman,  in 
the  silent  hours  of  night,  seeks  a  lonely  pass  on  the 
public  road,  waits  the  approach  of  the  coming  travel 
ler,  puts  a  pistol  to  his  breast  and  a  hand  to  his  pocket, 
takes  his  treasure,  and  flies  to  seek  another  spot  and 
another  opportunity  for  a  repetition  of  his  crime,  and 
that  is  his  mode  of  digging  for  money.  The  less  dar 
ing  robber  takes  his  false  keys,  and  makes  his  way  at 


THE     MONKY-IM'.-.  :    K>      AND     OLD     NICK.     1»'»7 

midnight  into  the  store  of  the  merchant,  or  tho  vaults 
of  the  bank,  bears  away  his  booty,  and  hides  it  in  the 
earth ;  then,  pale  and  haggard,  creeps  away  to  his  rest 
less  couch,  and  rises  in  the  morning  to  tremble  at 
every  sound  he  hears,  and  to  read  suspicion  on  the 
countenance  of  every  one  that  approaches  him — and 
that  is  his  mode  of  digging  for  money. 

with  me  into  the  courts  of  justice.  Listen  to 
that  learned  barrister,  pleading  for  his  client.  What 
eloquence!  what  zeal !  what  power!  How  admirably 
does  he  "  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason !" 
The  patient  judges  sit  from  morning  till  night,  waiting 
tor  his  conclusion,  and  still  it  comes  not.  The  even  ing 
waxeth  late,  and  still  he  goes  on  citing  case  after  case, 
and  rule  after  rule,  diving  into  huge  piles  of  old 
volumes  and  musty  record-  of  the  law,  as  eagerly  as 
if  his  own  life  depended  on  the  issue  of  the  trial. 
What  is  it  that  impels  him  to  all  this  exertion?  I 

he  is  digging  for  money. 

And  then,  do  you  see  that  restless  politician?  The 
whole  weight  of  the  government  is  resting  on  his 
shoulders.  The  salvation  of  the  country  depends 
upon  the  election  of  his  candidates.  How  he  rides 
m  t..\vn  to  town,  stirring  up  the  voters!  How  he 
claps  the  speakers  at  the  public  caucus,  and  with  what 


168 

assiduity  does  he  seize  his  neighbor  by  the  button  and 
lead  him  to  the  polls !  What  is  it  that  gives  such  lire 
to^ds  patriotic  zeal,  and  keeps  him  in  such  continual 
commotion  ?  The  answer  is  short ;  he  is  only  digging 
for  money. 

And  so  it  is  with  all ;  the  merchant  in  his  counting- 
house,  the  mechanic  in  his  workshop,  and  the  farmer 
in  his  field,  all  are  digging  for  money. 

But,  laying  aside  all  figures  of  speech,  and  all  cir 
cumlocution,  let  us  speak  of  money-diggers  proper — 
bond  fide  money-diggers — men  who  dig  holes  in  the 
ground,  and  delve  deep  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
in  search  of  pots  of  money  and  kettles  of  gold  and 
silver  coin.  For  such  there  are,  and  probably  have 
been  in  all  countries  and  all  ages. 

On  the  rough  and  rocky  coast  of  Maine,  about  ten 
miles  to  the  eastward  of  Portland  harbor,  lies  Jewell's 
Island.  It  is  a  bright  and  beautiful  gem  on  the  ocean's 
breast,  full  of  various  and  romantic  scenery.  It  has 

h 

its  green  pastures,  its  cultivated  fields,  and  its  dark 
shaggy  forests.  Its  seaward  shore  is  a  high  and  pre 
cipitous  mass  of  rock,  rough,  and  ragged,  and  project 
ing  in  a  thousand  shapes  into  the  chafing  ocean,  whose 
broken  waves  dash  and  roll  into  its  deep  fissures,  and 
roar  and  growl  like  distant  thunder.  On  the  inland 


iiil.     HOVBY-DIOGXR6     ANI>    OLD    NICK. 

side  of  t!u-  island,  tin-re  is  a  grassy  slope  down  to  the 
wa'  e,  ami  here  is  a  little,  round,  quiet,  harbor, 

where  l»<>ats  can  ride  at  anchor,  or  rest  on  the  s^ndy 
beach  in  in  perfect  security.  The  island  has  been 
inhabited  by  a  few  fishermen,  probably  for  a  century, 
and,  reeently  w««rks  have  been  erected  upon  it  for  the 
manufacture  of  copperas  and  alum,  the  mineral  from 
which  the>e  articles  are  produced  having  been  found 
there  in  ^ivat  abundance. 

This  island  has  been  renowned  as  a  place  for  money- 
diLririiii:  ever  since  the  first  settlements  were  planted 
al-'iiir  t:  :  and  wild  and  romantic  are  the  legends 

related  Ity  the  old  dames,  in  the  cnttaires  of  the  fish 
ermen,  when  some  wind-bound  passenger,  who  has 
left  his  vessel  to  spend  the  evening  on  shore,  happens 
t"  make  any  inquiry  about  the  money-diggers.    But  of 
all  th'  —  •  wild  legendary  narratives,  probably  there  is 
mni-e  jnitlu-ntic.  <>r  supported  by  stronger  or 
uiid«.ubted  ti'Minmny.  than  the  veritable  history 
lien-in  n-c-.rded  and  pjv-i-rved. 

•i  atn-r  the  clnst-  <•!' the  rrv..lnti« mary  war,  when 
the  country  be^an  t-»  breathe  somewhat  fn-ely  airain, 
after  its  IMIJIT  deathlike  strnir.irle,  and  tlie  industry  «.f 
the  inhabitants  was  settlin.ir  d-»wn  into  its  accustomed 
channels,  a  siil-T,  \vhn  had  wandered  from  Portland 


170 

harbor  some  forty  or  fifty  miles  back  into  the  country, 
called  at  the  house  of  Jonathan  Rider,  and  asked  for 
some  dinner.  "  But  shiver  my  timbers,"  he  added, 
"  if  I've  got  a  stiver  of  money  to  pay  for  it  with.  The 
last  shot  I  had  in  the  locker  went  to  pay  for  my 
breakfast." 

"  "Well,  never  mind  that,"  said  Jonathan,  "  I  never 
lets  a  fellow  creetur  go  away  hungry  as  long  as  I've 
got  anything  to  eat  myself.  Come,  haul  up  to  the 
table  here,  and  take  a  little  of  such  pot-luck  as  we've 
got.  Patty,  hand  on  another  plate,  and  dip  up  a  little 
more  soup." 

The  sailor  threw  his  tarpaulin  cap  upon  the  floor, 
gave  a  hitch  at  his  waistband,  and  took  a  seat  at  the 
table  with  the  family,  who  had  already  nearly  finished 
their  repast. 

"  What  may  I  call  your  name,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so 
l><>ld?"  said  Jonathan,  at  the  same  time  handing  a 
bowl  of  soup  to  the  sailor. 

"My  name  is  Bill  Stan  wood,  the  world  over,  fair 
\wather  or  foul ;  I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  old 
ICarblehead,  and  followed  fishing  till  I  was  twenty 
years  old,  and  for  the  last  ten  years  I've  been  foreign 
viges  all  over  the  world." 

"  And  how  happens  you  to  get  away  so  far  from  the 


TUB     MONEY-DIGG  K  i:  >      AND      OLD      Mc'K.    171 

sea  now,  jest  as  the  times  is  growing  better,  and  trade 
is  increasing?" 

"  Ob,  I  had  a  bit  of  a  notion,"  said  Bill,  "  to  take  a 
land  tack  a  few  days  up  round  in  these  part-." 

*  Maybe  you've  got  some  relations  up  this  way," 
said  Jonathan,  "  that  you  are  going  to  visit  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Bill,  "I  haint  got  a  relation  on  the 
face  of  the  arth,  as  I  know  on.  I  never  had  any 
lather,  nor  mother,  nor  brother,  nor  sister.  An  old 
aunt,  that  I  lived  with  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  was 
all  the  mother  that  ever  1  had ;  and  she  died  when  I 
was  <>n  my  la>t  tishiug  cruise;  and  there  wasn't  nobody 
left  that  I  cared  a  stiver  for,  so  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  haul  up  line  and  be  off.  So  I  took  to  foreign 
vi_Lres  at  once,  and  since  that  I  have  been  all  round  the 
\\Y-t  Indies,  and  to  Kn^laiid,  and  France,  and  Russia, 
and  South  America,  and  up  the  Mediterranean,  and 
clear  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  China,  and 
the  deuce  knows  where." 

"But  you  say  you  haint  got  no  relations  up  this 
way  ?" 

"HRx" 

"Nor  acquaintance^  nother?" 

"No." 

"Then,  it'  I   may  be  so  bold,  what  sent  you  on  a 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 


cruise  so  fur  back  in  the  country,  afoot  and  alone,  as 
the  gal  went  to  be  married  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  boldness  at  all,''  said  Bill  ;  "  ask  again,  if 
v<  m  like.  Ilowsomever,"  he  added,  giving  a  kn<  >wiu«j 
wink  with  one  eye,  "I  come  on  a  piece  of  business 
of  a  very  particular  kind,  that  I  don't  tell  to  every 
body." 

"  I  want  to  know  !"  said  Jonathan,  his  eyes  and 
mouth  beginning  to  dilate  a  little.  "Maybe,  if  ymi 
should  tell  me  what  'tis,  I  might  give  you  a  lift  about 
it." 

"  By  the  great  hocus  pocus!"  said  Bill,  looking  his 
host  full  in  the  face,  "  If  I  thought  you  could,  I'd  be 
your  servant  the  longest  day  I  live." 

"  You  don't  say  so  >"  said  Jonathan,  with  increas 
ing  interest;  "  it  mu.-t  be  something  pretty  particular 
then.  I  should  like  mighty  well  to  know  what  'tis. 
Maybe  I  might  help  you  about  it." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Bill,  "I'll  jest  ask  you  one 
question.  Do  you  know  anything  of  an  old  school 
master,  about  in  these  parts,  by  the  name  of  Solomon 
Bradman  ?" 

«  No—  why?" 

"Never  heard  anything  of  him?"  said  Bill,  with 
earnestness. 


THE     MONEY-PIGG1  -:i:s      AND     OLD      NH'K.    173 

"Not  a  word,"  said  .Jonathan?  "  why,  what  about 
him?" 

"It  H   diMicvd   stranire."  said  Bill,    "that  I  m-ver 

lu-ar  a  word  of  that  mail.     IM  work   like  a  slave 

bob  year  tor   tin-   Bake  of   finding  him  only  one 

hour.      I  wa-   told,  the  la>t   lu-  was  liranl   «>n,  lie  was 

in  soino  "f  those  t«»wns  r.nuul  1  j»in#  school." 

-\\\-l;,  I  iii-viTheanl«»t'hinihot«»re,"  sai«l  Jnnathan; 
"l.iit  Avhat  makes  yon  so  miirhty  anxious  to  find  him? 
l)i.l  \-(.i;  -Imnl  t«>  him  niR-e,  and  have  you  <»we»l 

him  a  licking  ever  since  ?  Or  docs  he  owe  you  some 

money!" 

"No,- 1  never  set  eyes  «.n  him  in  my  lite."  sai<l  Hill ; 
"hut  t'  feodjf  in  tlie  world  I'd  -rive  half  so 

much  t«»  Bee.     And  now  wr'\v  irot  along  so  fur,  jest 

:  you  and  nu-,  I'll  a-k  you  one  m«"-  'on; 

l.ut   1  would  n't  have   you   name  it    to  anybody   for 
nothi 

"No,  by  jin.irs,"  '    -lathan,  "if  you're  a  mind 

!  nir,  I'll  l»i>  a-  \\-}\\<\  ahout  it  a-  a  mouse." 
"Wi-11,  thi-n,"  said    I»ill,   "I  want   to  know,  ii 

f  anybody,  thai  knows  how  to  work  ; 

r 

••  P.i-aiidy-way?   wh;r  i  J-nathan.     "If 

you  mean    anybody  that   can  ilrhik  brandy-way.    I 


174 

guess  I  can  show  you  one,"  lie  continued,  turning  to 
a  stout,  red-faced,  blowzy  looking  man,  who  sat  at  his 
right  hand  at  table.  "Here's  my  neighbor,  Asa 
Sampson,  I  guess  can  do  that  are  sort  of  business  as 
last  as  anybody  you  can  find.  Don't  you  think  you 
can,  Asa?" 

Asa  Sampson  was  a  hard  one.  He  was  helping 
Mr.  Rider  do  his  haying.  He  had  been  swinging  the 
scythe,  through  a  field  of  stout  clover,  all  the  fore 
noon,  during  which  time  he  had  taken  a  full  pint  of 
strong  brandy,  and  now  had  just  finished  a  hearty  hot 
dinner.  Mr.  Sampson's  face,  therefore,  it  may  well 
be  supposed,  was  already  in  rather  a  high  glow.  But 
at  this  sudden  sally  of  Mr.  Eider,  the  red  in  Asa's 
visage  grew  darker  and  deeper,  till  it  seemed  almost 
ready  to  burst  out  into  a  blue  flame.  He  choked  and 
stammered,  and  tried  to  speak.  And  at  last  he  did 
ppejik,  and  says  he  : — 

"  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Rider,  I  guess  so ;  and  if  you'll 
jest  bring  your  brandy  bottle  on,  I'll  try  to  show  you 
how  well  I  can  do  that  are  sort  of  business." 

Mr.  Rider,  thinking  his  joke  upon  Asa  was  rather 
a  hard  one,  as  the  most  ready  means  of  atoning  for 
it,  called  upon  Mrs.  Rider  to  bring  forward  the  bottle 
at  once. 


TIM:    MOVKT-DIGGBBfl    AND    OLD    NICK.   175 

M  Game,"  >aid  Mr.  Rider,  "let's  take  a  drop,"  turu- 
ing  "Ut  a  gla-  himself,  and  then  passing  the  bottle  to 
the  sailor  and  Mr.  Sampson. 

"I  can  drink  brandy  all  weathers,"  said  Bill  Stan- 
wood,  tilling  up  a  good  stiff  glass ;  "but  if  I  could 
onlv  jest  lind  somebody  that  could  show  me  how  to 
work  brandy-way,  I  should  rather  have  it  than  all 
the  brandy  that  ever  was  made  in  the  world." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  this  brandy-way  you 
talk  about?"  said  Jonathan.  "Seems  to  me  that's  a 
new  kind  of  a  wrinkle;  I  don't  understand  it," 

«  Why.  1  mean,"  said  Bill,  "I  want  to  know  how 
to  measure  bnindy-way  ;  that  is,  how  to  measure  off 
so  many  rods  on  the  ground  brandy-way.  I  never 
heard  of  but  one  man  that  fully  understood  it,  and 
that  was  ^la-ter  liradman  :  and  I've  been  told  that  he 
knew  it  as  well  as  he  did  the  multiplication  tahle. 
I've  been  hunting  for  that  man  a  fortnight,  all  round 
in  these  towns  about  here,  and  it's  plagm-y  strange  I 
can't  hear  nothing  of  him." 

••  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  ab«»ut  your  mea^ur- 
ini:  h randy-way,"  said  Jonathan,  "and  as  for  Master 
r.radman,  I'm  Mire  there  haint  nobody  by  that  name 
kej.t  school  in  this  town  these  twenty  yc-ars.  For  I've 
lived  here  twenty  years,  and  know  every  schoolmaster 


176  'WAV     DO  w  :>     B  A  ST. 

that's  kept  school  here  since  I  came  into  the  town. 
But,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  what  makes  you  so  anxious 
to  learn  about  this  brandy-way  business?" 

"  Why,  I've  reasons  enough,"  said  .Bill ;  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  'tis,  shipmate,"  he  added,  giving  Jonathan 
a  familiar  slap  on  the  shoulder,  "  if  I  could  only  learn 
how  to  measure  fifteen  rods  brandy-way,  I  wouldn't 
thank  king  George  to  be  my  grandfather.  I  should 
have  as  much  money  as  I  should  want,  if  I  should 
live  to  be  as  old  as  Methnsaleh." 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?"  said  Jonathan,  his  eyes  evi 
dently  growing  larger  at  the  recital.  "  I  should  like 
mighty  well  to  know  how  that's  done." 

"  Well,  I  should  a  good  deal  rather  see  the  money 
than  hear  about  it,"  said  Asa  Sampson,  whose-  ideas 
were  somewhat  wdk\-<l  aj>  1  >y  the  effects  of  the  brandy. 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  it,  do  you  ?"  said  Bill.  "  I 
could  convince  you  of  it  in  live  minutes,  if  I'd  a  mind 
to  ;  for  I've  got  the  evidence  of  it  in  my  pocket.  If 
I  could  only  measure  brandy-way,  I  know  where  I 
could  go  and  dig  up  lots  and  lots  of  money,  that  have 
been  buried  in  the  earth  by  pirates." 

"  Are  yon  in  arnest?"  said  Jonathan. 

"  To  be  sure  I  am  ;  I  never  was  more  in  arnest  in 
my  life." 


THE     MONEY-DIGGERS     AND     OLD     NICK.    177 

"Well,  now  do  tell  us  all  about  it,  for  if  it's  true, 
and  you'll  give  me  a  share  of  it,  I  would  n't  valley 
taking  my  old  horse  and  wairon,  and  ^"inir  round  a 
few  days  with  you  to  help  limit  up  Master  Bradman. 
And  if  wo  can't  1ind  him,  perhaps  we  can  find  some 
body  el  so  that  knows  how  to  do  it.  But  do  you  know 
pivtty  m-ar  whore  the  money  is?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  within  fifteen  rods  of  the  very 
spot." 

M  And  you  are  sure  there's  money  buried  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  sure  of  it.  I've  got  the  documents  here 
in  my  pocket  that  tolls  all  about  it.  I'm  most  tired  of 
hunting  alone  for  it,  and.  if  you're  a  mind  to  tako 
hold  and  follow  it  up  with  mo,  I've  a  good  mind 
to  let  you  into  the  Becret,  and  lot  you  <TO  snack-  with 
me;  for,  somehow  or  other,  1  kind  of  tako  a  liking 
to  \"ii,  and  don't  believe  1  sliall  iind  a  cleverer  fellow 
it'  I  sail  the  world  o-. 

"That's  what  y-.u  wont.''  said  Mrs.  Rider,  who 
in  to  feel  a  stn>nir  interest  in  the  conversation  of 
tlu-  sailor.  u  I've  Himmered  and  wintered  Mr.  Rider, 
and  know  ju-t  what  he  is  ;  and  I  don't  think  you'll 
find  anybody  that  would  help  you  more  in  looking 
for  the  money,  or  any  eleven -r  man  t«»  have  a  share 

of  it  after  you've  found  it." 

8* 


178 

"  Well,  that's  jest  what  I  want,"  said  Bill ;  "  so,  if 
you  say  so,  it's  a  bargain." 

"Well,  I  say  so,"  said  Jonathan;  "now  let's  see 
your  documents." 

Bill  Stanwood  deliberately  drew  from  his  pocket  an 
old  rusty  pocket-book,  carefully  tied  together  with  a 
piece  of  twine.  He  opened  it,  and  took  from  its 
inmost  fold  a  paper  much  worn  and  soiled. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  that's  the  secret  charm.  That's 
worth  more  than  King  George's  crown;  if  'twas  n't 
for  that  plaguey  little  botheration  about  measuring 
fifteen  rods  brandy-way.  Now  I'll  tell  you  how  I 
come  by  this  ere  paper.  About  three  years  ago,  we 
was  on  a  vige  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  we 
had  an  old  Spanish  sailor  with  us  that  was  a  real  dark 
faced  old  bruiser.  He  was  full  of  odd  ways.  It 
seemed  as  if  he'd  got  tired  of  the  world  and  every 
body  in  it,  and  did  n't  care  for  nobody  nor  nothin'. 
And  every  soul  on  board  almost  hated  him,  he  was  so. 
crabbed-like.  At  last  he  was  took  sick,  and  grew 
very  bad.  Day  after  day  he  lay  in  his  berth,  and 
only  grew  worse.  The  captain  used  to  send  him  some 
medicine  everyday,  but  never  wouM  go  Bear  him, 
and  none  of  the  hands  did  n't  go  nigh  him,  only  jest 
to  hand  him  the  medicine  when  tho  captain  sent  it. 


1  II  K      M  <  >  N  K  V  -  I  '  1  (,  (,  i.  K  B      A  N  .1 1      OLD      N  K'  K  .     179 

And  ho  would  take  the  medicine  without  saying  a 
word,  and  then  lay  down  again,  and  you  wouldn't 
know  hut  what  he  was  dead  all  day,  if  it  wasn't  once 
in  a  while  you  would  hear  him  fetch  a  hard  breath, 
or  a  groan.  I  began  to  pity  him,  and  I  went  and 
stood,  and  looked  on  him.  The  cold  sweat  stood  in 
dn.ps  OH  his  forehead,  he  was  in  so  much  distress. 
And  says  I,  *  Diego,  can't  I  do  something  for  you?' 
And  I  s'pose  I  looked  kind  of  pitiful  on  him,  for  he 
opened  liis  ey«  and  stared  in  my  face  a  minute,  as  if 
he  heard  some  strange  sound,  and  then  the  tears 
come  into  his  eyes,  and  his  chin  quivered,  and  says 
he, 

"'Bill,  it'  You'll  only  jest  get  mo  a  drink  of  cold 
water,  for  I'm  all  burning  up  inside.' 

"And  I  went  and  got  him  some  water,  and  he 
drinked  it,  and  it  seemed  to  revive  him  a  little.  And 
lie  t'»  me,  'Bill,  I'm  j<--t  going  off  upon  my  last 
long  vige.'  And  then  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
ami  took  out  this  very  paper,  and  handed  it  tome; 
and  -ay-  lie, 

"'I  meant  to  have  kept  this  in  my  pocket,  and  let 
it  be  tin-owed  with  my  old  carcase  into  the  sea  ;  but 
you  have  been  kind  to  me,  ami  you  may  have  it  ;  and 
if  ever  you  L">  into  that  part  of  the  world  again,  it 


180  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

will  show  you  where  you  can  get  as  much  money  as 
you  want.' 

"  That  night  poor  Diego  died,  and  we  took  and 
wrapped  him  in  his  blanket,  and  put  a  stone  to  his 
feet,  and  threw  him  overboard  ;  and  that  was  the  end 
of  poor  Diego." 

"  Poor  soul,"  said  Mrs.  Eider,  brushing  a  tear  from 
her  eye,  "  how  could  you  bear  to  throw  him  over 
board?" 

"  Oh,  we  could  n't  do  nothin'  else  with  him,  away 
off  there  to  sea.  When  a  poor  fellow  dies  a  thousand 
miles  from  land,  there's  no  other  way  but  to  souse 
him  over,  and  let  him  go.  I  pitied  the  creetur  at  the 
last,  but  no  doubt  he'd  been  a  wicked  wretch,  and  I 
suppose  had  lived  among  pirates.  He  had  scars  on 
his  face  and  arms,  that  showed  he'd  been  in  some 
terrible  battles." 

"Well,  what  was  in  the  paper?"  said  Jonathan, 
beginning  to  grow  a  little  impatient  for  the  documents. 

"  I'll  read  it  to  you,"  said  Bill. 

So  saying,  he  opened  the  paper,  which  was  so  much 
worn  at  the  folds  as  to  drop  into  several  pieces,  and 
read  from  it  as  follows  : — 

In  the  name  of  Captam  Kidd,  Amen. — On  Jewell's 


•  Imp  \n\  . 


.M-II  :it  ' 


Tin:    KOHBY-DIGOKBfl     AND    OLD    NIOK.  181 

I.-land,  near  the  barb. >r  of  Falnmutli.  in  tin-  District 
of  Elaine,  is  buried  a  large  ir«»n  pot  full  of  gold,  with 
an  ;  r  over  it,  ami  al«»  two  large  in>n  pots  full 

-ilvcr  dollars  and   half  dollars,  with   iron  co\ 
over  them  ;  am!  >t her  large  iron  pot,  with  an 

iron  cover  over  it,  full  of  rich  jewels,  and  gold  rings 
and  necklaces,  and  gold  watches  of  great  value.  In 
this  la-t  pot  is  the  paper  containing  the  agreement  of 
the  four  persons  who  "huried  these  treasures,  and  the 
name  of  each  <>ne  i^  signed  to  it  with  his  own  blood. 
In  that  agreement  it  is  stated  that  this  property 
belongs  iMjually  t<>  the  four  persons  who  buried  it,  and 
is  nnt  to  l»e  dug  up  <»r  disturbed  while  the  whole  tour 
are  living,  except  they  be  all  present.  And  in  ca§6  it 
shall  not  be  reclaimed  during  the  lifetime  of  the  four, 
it  shall  belong  equally  to  the  survivors,  who  shall  be 
bound  to  each  other  in  the  same  manner  as  the  four 

re  bound.      And  in  case  this  property  shall   n- 
',ug  up  by  the  l'«u\\  or  any  of  them,  the  last  survi- 
-hall  have  a  right  to  reveal  the   place  where   it  is 
hid,  and  to  make  such   disposition  of  it  as  he  may 
thii,  :•.      And  in  that  same-  paper,  the  evil  -pint 

of    darkness    is    invoked    to    keep    watch    OT0T    \\\\< 
money,  and  to  visit  with  suddt n  de-tnicti.m  any 
of  the  four   who  may  violate  his  agreement.     This 


182 


property  was  buried  at  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  only 
at  the  hour  of  midnight  can  it  ever  be  reclaimed. 
And  it  can  be  obtained  only  in  the  most  profound 
silence  on  the  part  of  those  who  are  digging  for  it. 
Not  a  word  or  syllable  must  be  uttered  from  the  time 
the  first  spade  is  struck  in  the  ground,  till  a  handful 
of  the  money  is  taken  out  of  one  of  the  pots.  This 
arrangement  was  entered  into  with  the  spirit  of  dark 
ness,  in  order  to  prevent  any  unauthorized  persons 
from  obtaining  the  money.  I  am  the  last  survivor  of 
the  four.  If  I  shall  dispose  of  this  paper  to  any  one 
before  my  death,  or  leave  it  to  any  one  after  I  am 
gone,  he  may  obtain  possession  of  this  great  treasure 
by  observing  the  following  directions.  Go  to  the 
north  side  of  the  island,  where  there  is  a  little  cove, 
or  harbor,  and  a  good  landing  on  a  sandy  beach. 
Take  your  compass  and  run  by  it  due  south  a  half  a 
mile,  measuring  from  high-water  mark.  Then  run 
fifty  rods  east  by  compass,  and  there  you  will  find  a 
blue  stone,  about  two  feet  long,  set  endwise  into  the 
ground.  From  this  stone,  measure  fifteen  rods 
brandy-way,  and  there,  at  the  depth  of  five  feet  from 
tin.'  surface  of  the  ground,  you  will  find  the  pots  of 
money.  (Signed) 

DIEGO  ZEVOLA. 


THE     MONK  V-:  NI>     OLD     NICK.    183 

When  Bill  Stanwood  had  finished  reading  his 
4  document,'  there  was  silence  in  the  room  for  the 
>pace  <>t'  t\v«>  minutes.  Jonathan's  eyes  were  fixed  in 
a  sort  of  bewildered  amazement  upon  the  sailor,  and 
Mrs.  Rider's  were  riveted  intently  upon  her  husband; 
while  Asa  Sampson's  were  rolling  about  with  a  strange 
wildiK-ss,  and  his  mouth  was  stretched  open  wide 
enough  to  swallow  the  brandy  bottle  whole.  At  last, 
says  Bill, 

"  There  you  have  it  in  black  and  white,  and  there's 
no  mistake  about  it.  It's  all  as  true  as  the  book  of 
.  I've  been  on  to  the  ground,  and  I've 
nu-asuivd  ott'the  halt' a  mile  smith,  and  I've  measured 
the  tit'ty  rods  east,  and  I've  found  the  lilue  stone,  but 
how  to  measure  the  fifteen  rods  brandy-way,  I'll  die 
if  I  can  tell." 

*  Well,  that's  a  tremendous  great  story,"  said  Asa 
Sampson;  "but,  according  to  my  way  of  thinking,  I 
should  rather  have  it  in  Mack  and  white,  than  to 
have  it  in  red  and  white.  Somehow  or  other,  I  ne 
should  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  papers  that 
an-  Mailed  with  men's  blood.  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 
handling  that  paper  that's  buried  up  in  one  of  them 
pots." 

"Poh,  that  paper's  nothing  to  us,''  -aid  Hill;  "  we 


184 


W  AY      DOWN      EAST. 


didn't  write  it.     I  should  as  lives  take  that  paper  up 
and  read  it,  as  to  read  the  prayer-book." 

"  Mercy  on  us,"  said  Mrs.  Eider  ;  "  read  a  paper 
that's  writ  with  men's  blood,  and  when  the  old  Kick 
is  set  to  watch  it  too  ?  I  would  n't  do  it  for  all  the 
world,  and  husband  shan't  do  it  neither." 

"But  does  it  say  we  must  have  any  tiling  to  do 
with  the  paper,  in  order  to  get  the  money?"  said 
Jonathan. 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Bill.  "  I  tell  you  that  paper 
has  no  more  to  do  with  us,  than  it  has  with  the  man 
in  the  moon." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Eider,  "it  does  say  the  old  evil 
one  is  set  there  t«>  watch  the  money.  And  do  you 
think  IM  have  my  husband  go  and  dig  for  money 
right  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  old  Nick  himself?  I 
should  rather  be  as  poor  as  Job's  cat  all  the  days  of 
my  life." 

"There's  no  trouble  about  that,"  said  Bill;  "all 
we've  got  to  do  is  to  hold  our  tongues,  while  we're 
digging,  and  the  old  feller  '11  keep  his  distance,  and 
won't  say  a  word  to  us.  At  any  rate,  I'm  determined 
to  have  the  money,  if  I  can  find  it,  devil  or  no 
devil. 

"  But  that  confounded  brandy-way,  I  don't  know 


TIM:    KOHBT-DIO0BBfl     AM>    OLD    NICK.   185 

how  to  get  over  tliat.     That's   worse  than    forty  Old 
Hi  '  al"ii:r  with/' 

"  Well,  Til  tell  you  what  'tk"  said  Jonathan,  "if 
you  ean  get  within  iiftci-n  rods  of  the  m«>ney,  I  can 
find  it  without  any  help  uf  your  hrandy-way,  that  you 
tell  al.out." 

"  You  can?"  said  Hill,  eagerly. 
M  V«    :    it'  you'll   carry  me  within   fifteen  rods  of 
where  the  money  k  I'll  eiiira^e  to  lind  the  very  spot 
where  it  is  hnried  in  less  than  one  hour." 

"You  will  /'  sai.l   1-Iill,  sprin-ini:  on  his  feet,  and 
. ;han  a  ^lap  on  his  sh.uilder,    "Can  you 
d«»  it?     Do  tell  us  how." 

"  V-    .  :  tind  it  with  a  mineral  rod." 

"WhatVa  mineral   r«>d  T  said  P>ill.     "Now  n..ne 
••ur  huml.u^;   1-ut  it'  do  it,  ti-11  11-  ho\v." 

^   no    huinlniir    ah«»ut    it,"    sai<l    Jonatlian, 
'y.     u  I  know  ho\\-  to  work  a  mineral   rod,  and  I 
Indie  ;ind  the  money." 

"  P.ut  what  /.v  a  mineral  rod?"  said  l.ill. 
'•  Why,    dnn't    you   know  '.      \\'<   | 
1. ranch  of  witch-lia/el,  cut  otK  ahnut  a  foot  and  a  halt 
or  t  <:i  that    ha-  tlie  po 

work  'em,  ta  •  nds  of  the  l.rancl  •  ii  hand, 

and   liold-   the  o!!i,-r    end,    where    the  branches    are 


186 


joined  together,  pointing  up  to  the  sky.  And  when 
they  come  near  where  there's  minerals,  or  gold,  or 
silver,  buried  in  the  ground,  the  rod  will  bend  that 
way;  and  when  they  get  right  over  the  spot,  the  rod 
will  bend  right  down  and  point  towards  the  ground." 

"Now,  is  that  true?"  said  Bill. 

"True?  yes,  every  word  of  it.  I've  seen  it  done 
many  a  time,  and  I've  done  it  myself.  The  mineral 
rod  won't  work  in  everybody's  hands,  but  it  '11  work 
in  mine,  and  once  I  found  a  broad-axe  by  it  that  was 
lost  in  the  meadow." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Bill,  "let  us  be  off  forthwith, 
and  not  let  that  money  lie  rusting  in  the  ground  any 
longer.  Why  not  start  off  to-night  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  we  could  start  towards 
night,"  said  Jonathan;  "but  I  shall  have  to  go  out 
iirst  and  hunt  up  a  witch-hazel  tree  to  get  some 
mineral  rods." 

"  It's  my  opinion,"  said  Asa  Sampson,  "you  had 
better  wait  a  day  or  two,  and  finish  getting  in  your 
hay  before  you  go  ;  for  if  you  should  come  back  with 
your  wagon  tilled  with  ni"iu-\ •,  y.m'll  be  too  confound 
ed  lazy  ever  to  get  it  in  afterwards." 

"No,  you  shan't  stir  one  step,"  said  Mrs.  Rider, 
"till  that  hay  is  all  got  in.  There's  two  loads  out 


THK    KOVBT-DXGOm    AND    OLD    NICK. 

that's   made   enough   to  get    in   now,   and   you    kin-w 
there's  as  much  as  one  load  t«>  mow  yet." 

Mr-.  Kider's  will  was  all  tin-  law  or  gospel  there 
was  about  the  house.  Of  cour>e  her  husband  did  not 
undertake  to  gainsay  lier  dictum,  l»ut  told  J5511  they 
could  not  possibly  get  n-ady  t«>  start  before  the  next 
night,  as  that  hay  would  have  to  be  taken  care  of 
first. 

M  Well,  then,"  said  Bill,  "call  all  hands  and  let's 
go  at  it.     Come,  wheiv's  your  scythe?     I'll  go  and 
fini>h  mowing  that  grass  down  in  the  iirst  place." 
u  liut  can  you  mow?"  said  Jonathan,  doubt  in  irly. 
u  Mow?  I  guess  you'd  think  so,  it'  you  should  see 
me  at  it.     1  worked  on  a  farm  >ix  weeks  once,  when 
1   was  a  boy,  and  learnt  to  pull  every   rope   in   the 
ship/ 
All  hands  repaired  to  the  iield.     .Hill  Stanw : 

•ythe  and  went  to  thra>hinir  ab«>ut  as  though  he 
\\i-re  killing  rattle.-nake-.  He  MI<>II  batteivd  up  one 
scythe  against  the  rocks,  and  presently  bmke  another 
by  sticking  it  into  a  stump.  It  was  then  agreed  that 
he  >hould  change  work*  with  Asa  Samp-on,  and  help 
get  the  hay  into  the  barn,  while  Asa  inowrd.  The 
buMiie-s  then  went  on  briskly.  The  bo\>  and  girls 
were  out  >j. reading  and  raking  hay,  and  Mrs.  Uider 


183 

herself  went  on  to  the  m«»w  in  the  barn  to  help  stow 
it  away.     The  next  day  the  1788  finished,  and 

all  things  were  in  preparation  to  start  tor  ,K-\v 
I>land.  Mrs.  Ridrr,  ho  we ver,  whose  imagination  had 
been  excited  hy  the  idea  of  Old  Nick  heing  set  to 
guard  the  money,  was  still  unwilling  her  hnshand 
should  go;  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  solemnly 
promised  to  bring  her  home  a  new  silk  gown,  and  a 
new  pair  of  morocco  shoes,  and  some  stuff  to  make 
her  a  new  silk  bonnet,  that  she  finally  gave  her  con 
sent.  "When  the  matter  was  finished,  she  took  a  large 
firkin  ami  filled  it  with  bread  and  cheese,  and  boiled 
•;',  and  doughnuts,  for  them  to  eat  on  their  way; 
and  "Bill  said  there  was  a. great  plenty  to  last  till  they 
got  down  to  the  pots  of  money,  and  after  that  they 
could  buy  what  they  wanted. 

Asa  Sampson,  who  was  at  work  for  Mr.  "Rider, 
agreed  to  go  with  them  for  his  regular  daily  pay,  with 
this  proviso:  if  they  got  the  money,  they  were  to 
make  him  a  present  outright  of  a  hundred  dollars, 
which  he  said  would  be  as  much  money  as  he  should 
ever  know  what  to  do  with. 

A-  a  parting  caution,  Mrs.  Rider  charged  them  to 
remember  and  not  speak  while  they  were  digging, 
and  told  them,  lest  some  word  might  slip  out  before 


Tin.     KOHSY-DIOGERti     A.\I»    «»I.D    NICK.   189 

they  thought  "fit,  they  lia«l  lu-tter  oaeh  of  them  tie  a 
handkerchief  DV«  their  mouths  when  they  begun  to 
dig,  and  n..t  take  it  oil'  till  they  got  down  to  the 
money.  They  all  agreed  that  it  would  be  an  excel 
lent  I'lan,  an«l  they  would  certainly  do  it. 

Mr.  Rider's  old  horse  wi»  tickled  into  the  wagon, 
the  baggage  was  put  on  hoard,  and  the  three  fortune- 
hunters  jumped  in  and  drove  oil'  tor  Falmouth.  It 
WtM  a  Ion-  and  lonesome  r-ad,  hut  the  bright  visions 
«.f  the  future,  that  WGW  daiu'in^  l.et'oiv  their  eyes, 
made  it  seem  to  them  like  a  journey  to  Paradise. 

«  NTOW,  Mr.  Kidrr."  said  Hill,  "what  do  you  mean 
fo  do  with  your  half  of  the  money,  when  we  get  it?" 

"Well.  I  think  I  shall  take  two  thousand  dollars  of 
it."  >aid  Jonathan,  "and  l.uy  Squire  Dickinson's 
farm,  that  lives  next  neighbor  tome.  He's  always 
l.n.ki-d  down  np.,n  me  with  a  kind  of  COntemp^ be- 
eau>e  I  was  n't  BO  wi-11  oil' in  the  world  as  he  was  ;  and 
I  should  like  mighty  well  to  got  him  out  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  And  I  guess  he's  drove  for  money  too,  and 
would  be  glad  to  sell  out.  And  now,  neighbor  Stan- 

w 1.  I'll  tell  you  what  1  think   >/<n,  better   do.      You 

better  buy  a  good   farm    right    up   there  aloi' 

DM,  and  wi-'ll  build  each  of  us  a  large  nice  hott*,  just 

alike,  and  iret   eaeh  of  us  a  first  rate  liorsc,  and  we'll 


190 


WAY      DOWN      EAST. 


live  together  there,  and  ride  about  and  take  com 
fort." 

"  By  the  hocus  pocus !"  said  Bill,  "  I  hope  you  <1<  >n" t 
call  that  taking  comfort.  No,  none  of  your  land 
lubber  viges  for  me.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do. 
As  soon  as  I  get  my  money  I  mean  to  go  right  to 
Boston  and  buy  the  prettiest  ship  I  can  find — one 
that  will  sail  like  the  wind — and  I'll  have  three 
mates,  so  I  shan't  have  to  stand  no  watch,  but  go 
below  just  when  I  like  ;  and  I'll  go  cap'n  of  her,  and 
go  away  up  the  Meditcrranian,  and  up  the  Baltic. 
And  then  I'll  make  a  vige  straight  round  the  world, 
and  if  I  don't  beat  Captain  Cook  all  to  nothin',  I  think 
it's  a  pity.  And  now  you  better  sell  out  your  old 
farm  up  there  among  the  bushes,  and  go  with  me. 
I'll  tell  you  what  'tis,  shipmate,  you'd  take  more  com 
fort  in  one  month  aboard  a  good  vessel,  than  you 
could  on  a  farm  in  a  whole  year.  What  comfort  is 
there  to  be  found  on  a  farm,  whore  you  never  see  any 
tiling  new,  but  have  tlio  same  thing  over  and  over 
t'.'i-ever?  No  variety,  n<>  change  but  everything 
always  the  same — I  should  get  as  tired  as  deatli  in  a 
month." 

"Well,  now,   neighbor,"  said   Jonathan,   "you  are 
as  much   mistaken,  a,s  if  you  had   burnt   y<>ur  shirt. 


TIM;      MONKY-DIOGFK.S      AND     «»i.n      NK'K. 

There's  ii"  hnsine>-  ill  the  \v«. rl.l  that  ha-  BO  much 
variety  and  so  many  new  tiling  all  the  time,  as 
farming.  In  the  lirst  place,  in  the  spring  com.--; 
pluuirhinir  time,  and  then  come-  planting  time,  and 
after  that  hoeing  and  weeding;  and  then  cumes  having 
time  ;  and  then  reaping  time  ;  and  then  getting  in  the 
com  and  putatue^.  And  then,  t<>  till  up  with  a  little 
fun  unco  in  a  while,  we  have  sheep  washing  in  the 
spring,  and  huskings  in  the  fall,  and  breaking  out  the 
r-'ad-  after  a  snow  st«»nn  in  the  winter:  and  seine- 
thin^  or  other  new  m«»-t  all  tlio  time.  When  y.-ur 
crops  are  growing,  even  y..ur  fields  look  new  every 
murnin.ir  :  while  at  sea  yuii  have  nnthinir  ni-w,  hut 
the  same  tiling  (>v^'1'  ;lll(l  "v^'!'.  every  day  t'nnu  murii- 
inir  till  niirht.  Vuu  do  nuthiiig  hut  sail,  sail,  all  tin- 
time,  and  have  nuthin^  tu  louk  at  hut  water  from  one 
week's  end  to  another." 

lien-  Kill  Stanwuud  hurst   into  a  l>p>ad  l«>ud  laugli, 
and  say-  he  : — 

-Well  dune,  -hipmate.  I  must  say  you  are  the 
•  •m-st  h.»rn  I've  met  with  this  lun^  time.  No 
variety  and  iiuthinir  new  to  be  seen  in  pMiiir  to  sea! 
If  that  aint  a  good  OQel  The  very  pi  ace,  too,  to  see 
even-thing  new  and  t<»  learn  everything  that  t: 
ii  in  the  wurld.  Why,  <>nly  je-t  in  wurking  the  ship 


192  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

there's  more  variety  and  more  to  be  seen  than  there 
is  in  working  a  whole  farm,  to  say  nothing  about  going 
all  over  the  world,  and  seeing  everything  else.     Even 
in  a  dead  calm  you  can  see  the  whales  spouting  and 
the  porpoises  rolling  about.     And  when  the  wind  is 
slack,  you  have  enough  to  do  to  stick  on  your  canvas. 
You  run  up  your  topgallan-sels,  and  your  rials,  and 
out  with  your  studden-sels,  and  trim  your  sheets,  and 
make  all  the  sails  draw.     And  then  you   walk   the 
deck  and  watch  the  changes  of  the  wind,  and  if  a 
vessel  heaves  in  sight  what  a  pleasure  there  is  in 
taking  your  spy-glass  and  watching  her  motions  till 
she's  out  of  sight  again  ;  or,  if  she  comes  near  enough, 
how  delightful  'tis  to  hail  her  and  learn  where  she's 
from,  and  where  she's  bound,  and  what  her  captain's 
name  is !     And  when  it  comes  on  a  blow,   what  a 
stirring  time  there  is!     All  hands  are  out  to  take  in 
the  light  sails;  down  goes  the  topgallan'  yards;  and 
if  the  wind  increases  you  begin  to  reef ;   and  if  it 
comes  on  to  blow  a  real  snorter,  you  furl  all  sails  and 
scud  away  under  bare  poles.     And  sometimes,  when 
the  storm  is  over,  you  come  across  some  poor  fellows 
on  a  wreck,  half  starved  or  half  froze  to  death,  and 
then  you  out  with  your  boat  and  go  and  take  'em  off, 
and  nurse  'em  up  and  bring  'em  to.     Now  here's  some 


Tin:    KOVVY-DIGCtBJt8    AND    OLD    NICK.   193 

life  in  all  this  business,  some  variety,  and  something 
interesting,  compared  with  what  there  is  on  a  farm. 
You  better  pull  up  stakes  when  we  get  our  money, 
sell  your  old  farm  and  go  to  sea  along  with  me." 

••\Vell,"  said  Jonathan,  "I'll  tell  you  what  'tis 
neighbor,  I'll  leave  it  out  to  Mr.  Sampson  here  to  say 
which  is  the  best  and  pleasantest  business,  farming  or 
going  to  sea.  If  he  says  farming,  you  shall  pay  the 
toddy  at  the  next  tavern,  and  if  he  says  going  to  sea, 
I'll  pay  it." 

"Done,"  said  Bill.  "Now,  Asa,  give  us  your 
opinion." 

"  Well,"  said  Asa,  "  all  I  can  say  is,  if  going  to  sea 
isn't  pleasanter  business  than  farming  there  isn't  much 
pleasure  in  it,  that's  all." 

"  But  that  aint  deciding  anything  at  all,"  said  Bill ; 
"  you  must  tell  us  right  up  and  down  which  is  the  best 
l.n^iness." 

"  Well,  if  I  must  say,"  said  Asa,  "  I  should  say 
going  to  sea  was  the  best  and  the  pleasantest." 

"There,  I  told  y«»u  so,"  said  Bill.  "  Now  how  fur 
i-  it  to  the  next  tavern?  I  want  that  toddy." 

"  It's  jest  to  the  top  of  this  hill,"  said  Jonathan ; 
"  and  bein'  the  hill's  pretty  steep,  we'll  jump  out  and 
walk  up,  and  give  the  old  horse  a  chance  to  breathe." 


194  '  \\    A   V       DO  W  N       K  AST. 

So  out  they  jumped,  and  Jonathan  drove  the  horse 
up  the  hill,  while  Bill  and  Asa  loitered  along  a  little 
behind. 

"  How  upon  arth,"  said  Bill,  "  come  you  to  decide 
in  favor  of  going  to  sea?  Did  you  ever  go  to  sea  ?" 

"  I  ?  No  I  never  set  foot  aboard  a  vessel  in  all  my 
life." 

'<  Then  how  come  you  to  know  so  much  about  going 
to  sea?" 

"  Foh !"  said  Asa,  "  all  I  knew  about  it  was,  I  knew 
Mr.  Rider  had  some  money,  and  I  knew  you  had  n't, 
and  I  wanted  the  toddy.  How  could  I  decide  any 
other  way  ?" 

"  True  enough,"  said  Bill ;  "  you  was  exactly  right." 

When  they  reached  the  tavern,  Mr.  Rider  paid  tho 
toddy,  and,  after  giving  the  old  Imrso  a  little  proven 
der  and  a  little  time  to  breathe,  the  trio  pursued  their 
journey  with  renewed  spirits  and  livelier  hopes. 
When  they  reached  the  sea-shore  at  Falmouth,  the 
sun  was  about  an  hour  high.  They  immediately  hired 
a  small  row  boat  for  two  or  three  days,  leaving  their 
horse  and  wagon  in  pawn  for  it,  and  prepared  to 
embark  for  Jewell's  Island,  which  was  about  ten  miles 
distant.  Jonathan  was  a  little  fearful  about  being  out 
upon  the  water  in  the  night,  and  was  for  waiting  till 


Tin-:     KOHKY-DIGGBBI     AND    OLD     NICK.    195 

•  morning  and  taking  tin-  <lay  before  them  for  tin' 
voyage  to  the  island.  But  Bill  said  n<>,  "they  could 
go  halt'  tin1  distance  before  pnnset,  ami  as  the:- 
good  moon,  tin-re  would  be  no  difficulty  in  icoin^  the 
other  half  after  sunset  ;  ami  he  was  determined  to  be 
on  the  islaiul  that  ni<^ht,  let  the  consequence  be  what 


They  accordingly  put  their  baggage  on  hoard,  and 

jumped  in,  and  rowed  off.  Bill  tir.-t  took  the  helm, 
and  Jonathan  and  Asa  sat  down  to  the  oars.  P.ut 
being  totally  un  accustomed  to  a  boat,  they  made  sad 
work  of  rowing  and  in  spite  of  all  of  Mill's  teaching 
and  ]  •reaching,  scnldin^  and  >\vearinir,  tli 
splashed  up  and  d«»wn  alternately  in  the  water,  resem 
bling  more  in  their  operation  two  Hails  upon  the  barn 
floor  than  two  ,,ar-  upon  the  ocean.  Their  little  bark 
made  but  >low  headway,  and  Mill  >.»on  got  out  of 
patience,  and  told  Jonathan  to  take  the  helm  and  he 
would  row  himself.  Jonathan,  hov,  ,.-ceeded 

mi  better  at  the   helm   than   at   the   oar;   top   the    : 
was  soon   heading  in   all   direct  ion<.  and    making  as 
ero.,ked   a  track   a-   wa-   ever  made   by  the   vci-ital-lc 
sea-serpent  himx-lf.     So  that  Mill  wa<  ••!•!'  call 

.lonathan  fnun  the  helm,  and  manage  to  keep  the  ; 
as  straight  as  he  could  by  rowing.     The  >l««\v  {)rogress 


196 


EAST. 


they  made  under  all  these  disadvantages  brought  it  to 
midnight  before  they  reached  the  island.  They  how 
ever  succeeded  at  last  in  gaining  the  little  harbor,  and 
it  being  about  high  water  they  drew  their  boat  upon 
the  beach,  and  walked  up  on  the  island  towards  a 
fisherman's  hut,  which  Bill  had  frequented  upon  his 
former  visit  to  the  place.  The  moon  had  set,  and  the 
night  was  now  somewhat  dark.  As  they  wound  their 
way  along  through  the  bushes  and  under  the  tall  trees, 
not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard,  save  the  low  sullen  roar 
of  the  ocean,  which  came  like  delicious  music  to  the 
ears  of  Bill  Stanwood,  while  to  Jonathan  and  Asa  it 
added  a  still  deeper  gloom  to  the  silence  and  dark 
ness  of  the  night. 

They  had  walked  but  a  short  distance  when  a  dim 
light  glittered  thnmgh  the  trees,  and  told  them  that 
the  fisherman's  hut  was  near. 

"  Ah,"  said  Bill,  «  old  Mother  Newbegin  is  up.  T 
believe  she  never  goes  to  bed  ;  for  go  there  what  time 
of  night  you  will,  you  will  always  find  her  padding 
about  the  room  with  an  old  Mack  night-cap  on,  putting 
dishes  to  rights  in  the  closet,  or  sweeping  up  the  floor, 
or  sitting  down  and  mending  her  husband's  cloth 
She  looks  more  like  a  witch  than  she  does  like  ? 
human  creetur,  and  sometimes  I've  almost  thought- 


THI:    MONKV-] 


197 

she  had  somethinu;  todoaboul  guarding  the  money 

thaf<  l>uried  t.n  the  island." 

M  \\Y11.  ain't  there  some  <>ther  house  ah-uit  here," 
;aid  Asa,  "  that  we  can  ,ir->  to  >  Somehow,  it  >eems  to 
me  I  <hould  n't  like  to  iret  quite  so  near  that  old  hag, 
if  there's  any  witchcraft  about  her." 

•  •T;.  •    very    near,"    said    Bill ; 

1,  hesides,  I  think  it's  best  to  go  in  and  see  old 
M  ,•-.,.;•  -in.     For  if  she  is  a  witch,  it's  no  use 

to  trv  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  her ;  and  if  we  keep 
the  ri«rht  side  of  her  and  don't  iM  her  mad.  mayhe 
she  may  help  11-  a  little  ahout  finding  the  money." 

Thev  appp-aclied  the  house,  and  as  they  passed  the 
little  low  window,  they  saw  hy  the  red  liirht  of  a  pitch 
knot,  that  wa-  hurninir  <>n  the  hearth,  the  old  woman 
sitting  ami  roasting  coffee,  which  she  was  stir 
with  a  stout  iron  spoon.  They  stopped  a  little  and 
•nnoitered.  The  irlare  ..f  the  li^ht  fell  full  «'H  the 
old  woman'-  f:.  inir  her  U-a'mv-  >harj»  and 

wrinkled,  her  skin  hrown.  and  her  eyes  hlack  and  t: 
Hi-r  ehin  wa-  leaning  on  (MM  hand,  and  the  other  was 
hu<ilv  i-mployed  in  Mirrinir  the  e.'tri-r.  wliil.  .-he  was 
talkinir  to  lu-r-elf  with  a  soh-mn  air,  and  appan-ntly 
with  much  earne>tm--.  H.-r  hlack  niirht-cap  was  on, 
and  fastened  with  a  piece  of  twine  under  her  chin. 


198 

and  the  tight  sleeves  of  her  frock  sat  close  to  her  long 
bony  arms,  while  her  bare  feet  and  bird-claw  toes 
projected  out  in  full  view  below  the  bottom  of  her  dress. 

"  I  swow,"  said  Asa,  "  I  believe  she  has  got  a  cloven 
foot.  Let's  be  off ;  I  should  rather  go  back  and  sleep 
in  the  boat  than  to  go  in  here  to-night." 

"  Poh !"  said  Bill,  "  that's  only  the  shadow  of  her 
foot  you  see  on  the  floor ;  she  has  n't  got  any  more  of 
a  cloven  foot  than  you  have.  Come,  I'm  going  in 
whether  or  no." 

With  that  he  gave  a  loud  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  screamed  the  old  woman. 

"  A  friend,"  said  Bill. 

"  Well,  who  be  ye  ?  What's  your  name  ?  I  shan't 
open  the  door  till  I  know  who  you  be." 

"  Bill  Stanwood,"  said  the  sailor. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  Bill  ?  Come  in  then,"  said  the  old 
woman  unfastening  the  door,  and  throwing  it  open. 

"So  you're  after  money  again,  aint  ye?"  said  tlu> 
old  woman,  as  they  entered  the  house ;  "  and  you've 
brought  these  two  men  with  you  to  help  you,  and 
that's  what  you  are  here  for  this  time  of  ni^ht." 

"  I  swow,"  said  Asa,  whispering  to  Bill  Stanwood, 
"  let's  be  off,  she  knows  all  about  it." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool,"  said  Bill ;  "  if  she 


11!  ^      DIGGERS     AND     OLD     NICK.    199 

kno\\>  all   about   us  we  may  as  w ell   be  here  a- any 
where  i •'. 

Asa  trembled  a  little,  but  finally  took  a  seat  on  a 
bench  near  the  door,  ready  to  run,  in  case  matters 
should  grow  despera: 

"Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  if  you  get  the  money , 
you'll  have  to  work  hard  for  it.  There's  been  a  good 
main  tried  for  it  before  you;  and  there's  been  two 
men  here  hunting  all  over  the  island  since  you  was 
here  before.  They  dug  round  in  a  good  many  places, 
and  my  old  man  thinks  they  found  some,  fur  they 
</ive  him  half  a  dollar  for  fetching  their  boat  hack 
when  >he  went  adrift,  and  he  said  the  half  dollar  was 
kind  <>f  rusty,  and  looked  as  though  it  had  been  buried 
in  the  ground.  But  I've  no  idea  they  got  a  dollar. 
It  H*H  so  easy  a  matter;  Old  Nick  takes  bet 
of  his  money  than  all  that  comes  to." 

••Where  is  your  old  man."  said  Bill.     "Seems  to 
mi-  he's  always  away  when  I  con 

-The   Lord  knows  where    he    is,"    said    the   old 

i  out  a  fishing  this  thr-  -  and 

wastoabeenhomelastinirht.    I've  heen  doimtothe 

shoiv  three  times  to  day  to  see  if  his  boat  was  in  >ight, 

but  could  n't  see  nothiif  of  him." 

"  Well,  aint  you  afraid  he's  lost?"  said  Bill. 


200 

"What!  old  Mike  jSTewbegin,  my  old  man,  lost? 
No,  not  he.  The  wind  always  favors  him  when  he 
gets  ready  to  come  home,  let  it  be  blowing  which 
way  'twill.  If  it's  blowing  right  dead  ahead,  and  he 
pulls  up  anchor  and  starts  for  home,  it  will  come 
round  in  five  minutes  and  blow  a  fair  wind  till  he 
gets  clear  into  the  harbor." 

Here  Asa  whispered  to  Bill  again,  declaring  his 
opinion  that  the  old  woman  was  a  witch,  if  nothing 
worse,  and  proposing  to  leave  the  house  and  seek 
shelter  for  the  night  somewhere  else.  But  Bill  reso 
lutely  opposed  all  propositions  of  the  kind,  and  A -a, 
being  too  timid  to  go  alone,  was  compelled  to  stay 
and  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  Well,  come,  old  lady,"  said  Bill,  "  you  can  give 
us  a  berth  to  lay  down  and  take  a  nap  till  morning." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  "there's  room 
enough  in  Bother  room.  If  anybody  wants  to  sleep, 
I  always  let  'em,  though,  I'T  my  part,  I  can't  see 
what  good  it  does  'cm.  I  think  if^  tin-owing  away 
time.  I  don't  think  thereV  any  i  ny  body's 

sleeping  more  than  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  then 
not  more  than  an  hour  at  <mee;  an  hour  of  sleep  is  as 
good  as  a  month  at  any  time." 

This   strange    doctrine    about   sleep    caused    Asa's 


THE     M  o  N  r  Y  -  I '  I  • ,  < ,  i    Bi      AND     OLD      M  «    K  .    L'"  1 

knees  to  tremble  worse  than  ever,  as  he  follows  1   I'ill 

and  Jonathan  int«>  the  other  room,  where  they  found 
a  mattress  of  straw  and  some  blankets,  an«l  laid  down 
to  rest.  Bill  and  Jonathan  soon  fell  into  a  comfort 
able  snore ;  but  Asa  tli  light  it'  there  was  no  sleep  for 
Mother  Newbegio  flu-re  was  none  for  him.  At  least 
he  felt  little  inclined  to  trust  himself  asleep  in  the 
house  while  she  was  awake.  Accordingly  he  turned 
and  rolled  from  side  to  side,  for  two  long  hours,  but 
could  get  no  rest.  He  sat  up  in  bed.  By  a  crack 
under  the  door  lie  perceived  there  was  a  taint  light 
still  glimmering  in  the  other  room.  lie  walked  softly 
toward-  the  door  and  listened.  lie  could  occasion 
ally  hear  the  catlike  old  woman  pad 
ding  across  the  floor.  Once  he  thought  she  Cfl 
close  to  the  door,  and  he  drew  back  lightly  on  his  tip 
toes  to  the  bed-ide.  lie  wondered  how  Hill  and 

athan  could  sleep  so  (juicily,  and  stepping  to  the 
nth.  f  the  room,  be  -rated  him-clt'  «»n  a  chest 

by  a  low  window  001  Q  by 

nin.  'he  rest  of  tl.  illed  up  with 

boards.      Hi-re  he  sat  revolving  over  in  his  mind  the 

•its  of  the  day,  and  ot'tlie  night  thus  far,  and  more 
and   more   wishing  himself  safely  at   home,  money  or 

no  money.     The  night  was  still  dark  and  gl'-omy.  but 

9* 


'  WT  A  Y    DOWN    EAST. 

he  could  now  and  then  see  a  star  as  he  looked  from 
the  little  window,  and — 

Oft  to  the  east  his  weary  eyes  he  cast, 

And  wish'd  the  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer  forth  at  last. 

And  at  last  it  did  glimmer  forth  ;  and  presently  the 
grey  twilight  began  to  creep  into  the  room,  and  trees, 
and  bushes,  and  rocks,  as  he  looked  from  the  window, 
began  to  appear  with  distinctness.  Asa  roused  his 
companions,  and  they  prepared  to  sally  forth  for  their 
day's  enterprise.  In  leaving  the  house,  they  had  to 
go  through  the  room  in  which  they  had  left  mother 
Newbegin  when  they  retired.  On  entering  this  room 
they  found  the  old  woman  appearing  precisely  as  they 
had  left  her,  gliding  about  "like  a  spirit,  apparently 
busy,  though  they  could  hardly  tell  what  she  was 
doing.  She  seemed  a  little  surprised  at  their  rising 
so  early,  and  told  them  if  they  would  wait  half  an 
hour  she  would  have  some  breakfast  for  them.  They 
gave  her  many  thanks,  but  told  her  they  had  provi 
sions  with  them,  and,  as  their  business  was  important, 
they  must  be  moving. 

"  Ah,  that  money,  that  money,"  said  the  old  woman 
shaking  her  head  ;  "  look  out  sharp,  or  Old  Nick  will 
make  a  supper  of  one  of  you  to-night." 


THE     MONEY-DIGGERS     AND     OLD    NICK.    203 


party  left  the  house  and  started  for  the  little 
harbor.  Asa  seemed  rather  wild  at  this  la>t  remark 
of  the  old  woman,  and  looked  back  over  his  >h<mlder 
as  they  departed,  till  they  had  gone  several  rods  from 
the  house.  When  they  reached  the  harbor,  they 
found  the  boat  and  all  things  as  they  had  left  them, 
and  proceeded  forthwith  to  commence  the  important 
work  of  the  day.  They  set  their  compass  at  high- 
water  mark  at  the  highest  point  of  the  harbor,  and 
took  a  rod  pole  and  measured  off  half  a  mile  from 
that  point  due  south.  They  then  set  their  compass  at 
this  place  and  measured  off  fifty  rods  due  east.  And 
here  they  found  the  blue  stone,  as  described  in  the 
"documents"  which  Bill  Stanwood  had  received 
from  the  pirate.  '  J  :.•  i  the  whole  party  bright 

ened  as  they  came  to  it. 

••  There  'tis,"  said  Bill,  "  so  fur,  exact  as  I  told  you, 
aim  it?" 

u  Yes,  fact,  to  a  hair's  breadth,"  said  Jonathan. 

••  Well,  no\v  it'  you  can  get  the  lifteeii  rods  hrandy- 
wav.ymi'll  lind  the  rest  je-t  a>  1  t<»  Id  you,"  said  Bill. 

They  then  measured  of  lit'teeii  rods  from  the  blue 
in  various  directions  and  set  up  little  stakes, 
a  sort  of  circle  round  the  stone  at  lifteeii  rods 
distance  from  it. 


204 

"  Now,"  said  Jonathan,  "  I'll  take  my  mineral  rod 
and  walk  round  on  this  ring,  and  if  the  money  is  here 
I  shall  find  the  spot." 

He  then  took  his  green  crotched  witch-hazel  bough, 
and  holding  the  top  ends  of  the  twigs  in  his  hand,  so 
that  the  part  where  they  joined  would  point  upward, 
began  his  mysterious  march  round  the  circle,  while 
Bill  and  Asa  walked,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  at  a 
little  distance,  and  watched  the  mineral  rod.  Some 
times  it  would  seem  to  incline  a  little  one  way,  and 
sometimes  a  little  the  other,  but  nothing  very  remark 
able  occurred  till  they  had  gone  about  three-quarters 
round  the  circle,  when  the  rod  seemed  to  be  agitated 
somewhat  violently,  and  began  to  bend  perceptibly 
towards  the  ground,  and  at  last  it  bent  directly  down 
wards. 

"  There,"  said  Jonathan,  "  do  y<ai  see  that  ?  My 
gracious,  how  strong  it  pulls  !  Here's  the  place  for 
bargains  ;  drive  down  a  stake.'' 

"  I  swow,"  said  Asa,  "  I  never  see  the  like  of  that 
before.  I  begin  to  think  there's  something  in  it 
now." 

"Something  in  it!"  said  Bill  Stanwood,  slapping 
his  hands  together ;  "  did  n't  I  tell  you  if  we  could 
only  find  the  fifteen  rods  brandy- way,  I  would  n't 


THE     MONEY-DIGGERS      AND     OLD     NICK. 

tliank  King  George  to  be  my  grandfather  1  Now,  Mr. 

Ilider,  jot  handout  your  brandy  bottle.  We  haven't 
had  a  drop  to-day  ;  and  Mnce  we've  worked  Brandy- 
way  so  well  your  way,  I  should  like  now  to  work  it 
in  Asa's  way  a  little." 

"  I  second  that  motion,"  said  Asa,  "  for  I'm  as  dry 
as  a  herrinY' 

They  accordingly  took  a  social  drink  of  brandy  and 
water,  and  drank  health  and  success  t«»  him  who 
should  h'rst  hit  the  pot  of  money;  and  having  sat 
down  under  a  tree  and  eaten  a  hearty  meal  from  their 
basket,  they  returned  to  mother  Newbegin's  to  pre 
pare  for  the  labors  of  the  coming  night.  They 
brought  from  their  boat  three  shovels,  a  pick-axe,  and 
a  crowbar.  The  old  woman  eyed  these  preparat: 
askance,  and  as  she  turned  away,  Asa  thought  he 
could  discern  on  her  feature-  the  di-ep  workings  of  a 
Mippres>ed  laugh.  Tlie  afternoon  wore  away  slowly, 
for  they  were  impatient  to  behold  their  tn  j  and 

twice  they  walked   to  the  spot,  which  was  to  be  the 
>•  of  their  operations,  to  consult  and  decide  on 
details  to  be  observed.     They  concluded,  in  order 
to  be  Mire  of  hitting  the  pots,  it  would  be  best  to 
make  their  excavation  at  least  ten  or  twelve  feet   in 
diameter,  and  in  order  to  afford  ample  time  to  get 


206 

down  to  them  at  about  midnight,  they  decided  to 
commence  operations  soon  after  dark. 

"  And  now,  about  not  speaking  after  we  begin  to 
dig,"  said  Bill ;  "  how  shall  we  work  it  about  that  ? 
for,  you  know,  if  one  of  us  happens  to  speak  a  word, 
the  jig  is  up  with  us." 

"  I  think  the  safest  way  would  be,"  said  Asa,  "  to 
cut  our  tongues  out,  and  then  we  shall  be  sure  not  to 
speak.  Howsomever,  whether  we  cut  our  tongues 
out  or  not,  if  you  won't  speak,  I'll  promise  you  I 
won't ;  for  I've  no  idea  of  giving  the  old  feller  a 
chance  to  carry  me  off,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Jonathan,  "  I  guess  we  better  tie 
some  handkerchiefs  tight  round  our  mouths,  as  my 
wife  said,  and  we  shan't  be  so  likely  to  forget  our 
selves." 

This  arrangement  was  finally  concluded  upon,  and 
they  returned  to  the  house.  That  night  they  took 
supper  with  mother  Newbegin,  and  endeavored,  by 
] niying  her  a  liberal  sum  for  the  meal,  and  by  various 
acts  of  courtesy,  to  secure  her  good  graces.  She 
>  coined  more  social  than  she  had  been  before,  and 
oven,  at  times,  a  sort  of  benevolent  expression 
beamed  from  her  countenance,  which  caused  Asa  to 
pluck  up  a  comfortable  degree  of  courage.  But 


THE     MONEY-DIGGERS     AND     OLD     NICK.     207 

when  it  'lark,  and  they  shouldered  their  tools 

to  depart,  the  old  woman  fixed  her  sharp  eyes  upon 
them  with  such  a  wild  sort  of  a  look,  that  Asa  began 
to  cringe  and  edge  along  towards  the  door,  and  when 
she  added,  with  a  grave  shake  of  the  head,  that  they 
had  hotter  look  out  sharp,  or  the  Old  Nick  would  have 
them  before  morning,  his  knees  trembled,  and  he 
once  more  wished  himself  at  home. 

The  party  arrived  at  the  spot.     And  first,  according 
to   previous   arrangements,  they  tied  handkerchiefs 

i-  their  mouths.  They  then  measured  a  circle 
round  the  stake,  of  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  took 
their  shovels  and  commenced  throwing  out  the  earth. 
The  night  was  still  and  calm,  and  though  the  atmos 
phere,  was  not  perfectly  clear,  the  starlight  was  sulli- 

•it  to  enable  them  to  pursue  their  labors  with 
faeilitv.  They  soon  broke  ground  over  the  whole 
area  which  they  had  marked  out,  and  diligently, 
shovelful  by  >ho\elful,  they  raided  the  gravelly  soil 
and  threw  it  beyond  the  circle.  In  half  an  hour  ; 
had  Mink  their  whole  shaft  nearly  two  feet,  and  1 

•ing  along  so  far  quite  comfortably,  with  bright 
hopes  and  tolerably  <juiet  nerves.  No  sound  broke 
upon  the  stilness  around  them,  >a\  e  the  sound  of 
their  own  ^hovels  against  the  stones  and  gravel,  and 


208 


the  distant  roar  of  the  chafing  ocean.  But  at  this 
moment  there  rose  a  wild  and  powerful  wind,  which 
brushed  down  upon  them  like  a  tornado.  The  trees 
bent  and  quivered  before  it,  the  leaves  flew,  and  dust 
and  gravel,  and  light  substances  on  the  ground,  were 
whirled  into  the  air,  and  carried  aloft  and  abroad 
with  great  rapidity.  Among  the  rest,  Asa  Sampson's 
straw  hat  was  snatched  from  his  head  and  flew  away 
like  a  bird  in  the  air.  Asa  dropt  his  shovel,  and 
sprang  from  the  pit,  and  gave  chase  with  all  his 
might.  After  following  it  about  fifty  rods,  it  touched 
the  ground,  and  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  catch  it. 
He  returned  to  his  companions,  whom  he  found  stand 
ing  awe-struck,  holding  their  own  hats  on,  and  rub 
bing  the  dust  from  their  eyes.  It  was  but  a  few 
minutes,  however,  before  the  extreme  violence  of  the 
wind  began  to  abate  and  they  were  enabled  to  pursue 
their  labors.  Still  the  wind  was  wild  and  gusty. 
They  had  never  known  it  to  act  so  strangely,  or  to  cut 
up  such  mad  pranks  before.  Sometimes  it  would  be 
blowing  strongly  in  one  direction,  and  in  one  minute 
it  would  change  and  blow  as  powerfully  in  the  other; 
ami  sometimes  it  would  whisk  round  and  round  them 
like  a  whirlwind,  making  the  gravel  they  had  thrown 
but  fly  like  hailstones.  Black,  heavy,  and  angry  look- 


THE     MONEY-DIGGERS     AND     <>M>      M»    K.     !_'"!» 

ing  clouds  kept  floating  by,  ami  -omctimes  they  heard 
the  distant  rumbling  of  thunder.     They  had  Q€ 
seen  such  clouds  before.     Tliey  appeared  to  them  like 
IIUI;L>  living  animals,  that  glared  at  them,  as  they  flew 

:•,  with  a  hundred  eyes.  Asa  sometimes  thonght 
they  looked  like  monstrous  great  sea-turtles,  and  he 
fancied  he  could  see  huge  legs  and  claws  extending 
from  their  sides;  and  mice  he  was  just  on  the  point 
of  exclaiming  to  his  companions,  and  telling  them  to 
look  out,  or  that  monstrous  turtle  would  hit  them  with 
his  claw  as  he  went  over;  but  the  handkerchief  over 
his  mouth  checked  him,  and  reminded  him  that  he 
mu>t  n.  .  and  he  only  sank  down  close  to  the 

bank  where  he  was  digging.  The  cloud-  g&W  thicker 
and  darker,  but  instead  of  adding  to  the  darkness  of 
the  night,  t!:  -  emit  a  sort  of  broken,  ilick- 

_T    twilight,  sutli.  enable   -hem   to   see  the 

in  each  nther's  countenances  and  to  behold 
objects  rather  indistinctly  at  some  rods'  distance, 
.edtlmt  the  other-  were  ]>ale  and  trem 
bling,  and  each  endeavored,  by  signs  and  gestures, 
and  plying  his  shovel  with  firmness  and  resolution,  to 
encourage  his  fellows  to  pera^ 

M  now  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  having  mea- 
-u red  the  depth  they  had  gone  they  found  it  to  be 


210  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

good  four  feet.  One  foot  more  would  bring  them  to 
the  money ;  and  they  fell  to  work  with  increased 
vigor.  At  this  moment  a  heavy  crash  of  thunder 
broke  over  their  heads,  and  big  drops  of  rain  began 
to  spatter  down.  Though  nearly  stunned  by  the 
report,  they  recovered  in  a  minute  and  pursued  their 
labors.  The  rain  increased  rapidly,  and  now  began 
to  pour  down  almost  in  one  continued  sheet. 
Although  the  earth  below  them  was  loose  and  open, 
and  drank  in  the  water  very  fast,  still  so  powerfully 
did  the  rain  continue  to  descend,  that  in  a  short  time 
they  found  it  standing  six  inches  round  their  feet. 
One  of  them  now  took  a  pail  and  dipped  out  water, 
while  the  others  continued  to  shovel  gravel.  Their 
resolution  seemed  to  increase  in  proportion  to  the 
obstacles  they  met,  and  gravel  and  water  were  thrown 
out  in  rapid  succession.  The  force  of  the  rain  soon 
began  to  abate,  and  they  would  in  a  short  time  luivo 
accomplished  the  other  foot  of  < lining,  had  not  the 
loose  soil  on  the  sides  of  the  shaft  begun  to  come  in  by 
means  of  the  wet,  and  accumulate  at  the  bottom  faster 
than  they  could  throw  it  out.  Several  times  it  gained 
upon  them,  in  this  way,  to  the  depth  of  some  inches. 
While  they  were  battling  with  this  difficulty,  und 
looking  up  at  the  bank  to  see  where  it  would  come  in 


THE     Mi'NKY-DK.U  KKS      AND     OLD     NICK.    211 

next,  a  tremendously  great  Mack  dog  came  and  stood 
upon  the  brink,  and  opened  his  deep  red  jaws,  and 
began  to  bark  with  terrific  power.  They  shrunk 
back  from  the  hideous  animal,  and  raised  their  shovels 
t«>  fright  him  off;  but  a  second  thought  told  them 
thev  had  better  let  him  alone  and  stick  to  their  w«»rk. 
They  measured  their  depth  again,  and  found  it  in 
some  places  four  feet  and  a  half,  and  in  others  almost 
live.  They  again  plied  their  shovels  with  all  dili 
gence,  and  as  they  stepped  to  and  fro  at  their  work, 
that  deep-mouthed  dog  kept  up  his  deafening  bark, 
and  leaping  round  the  verge  of  the  pit,  and  keeping 
on  the  side  nearest  thorn,  whenever  they  approached 
the  side  to  throw  out  a  shovelful  of  earth,  he  would 
spring  and  snap  at  their  heads  like  a  hungry  lion. 
Asa  seized  the  pickaxe,  partly  with  a  view  of  defend 
ing  himself  against  the  dog,  and  partly  for  the  pur- 
poee  <»f  Mriking  it  down  to  see  if  he  could  hit  the 
pots.  lie  commenced  driving  the  sharp  point  of  it 
into  the'  earth,  pacing  round  from  one  side  of  the  pit 
to  the  other,  till  at  last  he  hit  a  solid  stone;  and 
striking  round  for  some  distance  they  perceived  the 
stone  was  large  and  flat.  15511  and  Jonathan  made 
their  shovels  fly,  and  soon  began  t->  lay  the  surface  of 
the  -tone  hare.  They  noticed  when  they  first  struck 


212  'WAY    DO  w  N    i:  AST. 

the  stone  that  the  dog  began  to  bark  with  redoubled 
fierceness,  and  as  they  proceeded  to  uncover  it,  he 
seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  enraged.  As  he  did 
not  jump  down  into  the  pit.  however,  they  continued 
to  keep  out  of  his  reach  and  pursue  their  work. 
Having  laid  the  stone  hare,  and  dug  the  earth  away 
from  the  edges,  they  found  it  to  be  smooth  and  Hat, 
about  four  feet  square,  and  six  or  eight  inches  in 
thickness.  They  got  the  crow-bar  under  one  side, 
and  found  they  could  pry  it  up.  They  gradually 
raised  it  about  six  inches,  and  putting  something  under 
to  hold  it,  they  began,  by  means  of  a  stick,  to  explore 
the  cavity  beneath  it.  In  moving  the  stick  round 
amongst  the  loose  sand  under  the  stone,  they  soon  felt 
four  hard  round  substances,  which  they  were  sure 
must  be  the  four  iron  pots.  Presently  they  were 
enabled  to  rattle  the  iron  covers,  which  gave  a  sound 
that  could  not  be  mistaken.  At  la-i  they  got  the 
stick  under  one  of  the  covers  and  shoved  it  into  the 
pot,  and  they  heard  the  jingle  of  money.  Each  one 
took  hold  of  the  stick  and  tried  it  ;  there-  was  no  mis 
take  ;  they  all  poked  the  money  with  the  stick,  and 
they  all  heard  it  jingle.  All  that  now  remained  was 
to  remove  the  great  stone.  It  was  very  heavy,  but 
they  seized  it  with  resolute  determination,  and  all  got 


I  1 1  i :     KOJf]  v  - 1  >  1 1 .  • ,  i .  i:  >     AND    OLD    M  <  K  .    L'  1 : : ; 

hr>ld  on  one  side  with  the  intention  ,,f  turning  it  up 
on  the  edge.  They  lifted  with  all  their  mi^ht.  and 
were  hut  just  able  to  start  it.  They  however  made 
cut  t-»  raise  it  slowly  till  they  could  rest  it  a  little  on 
their  knees,  where  it  became  stationary.  It  seemed 
doubtful  whether  they  would  possibly  be  able  to  raise 
it  <>n  the  edge,  nd  it  seemed  almost  equally  difficult  to 
let  it  down  without  crushing  their  own  feet.  To  add 
to  their  embarrassment,  the  dog  was  barking  and  snap- 
g  more  fiercely  than  ever,  and  Mettled  just  upon 
the  point  of  springing  upon  them.  At  this  critical 
moment,  a  person  came  up  to  the  edge  of  the  pit,  and 
bid  the  dog  "Get  out."  The  dog  was  hushed,  and 
drew  back. 

"Ix  hbors,"  continued  the  stranger,  "shall 

I  give  you  a  lift  there  I" 

-  Ve<.  quick,"  said  Asa,  "  I  can't  hold  on  another 
mini; 

Dger  jumped  down  behind  them  and  put 
hi-  hand  airainst  the  stone.  In  a  moment  the  ponder 
ous  weight  of  the  stone  was  changed  to  the  lightness 
of  a  dry  pine  board,  and  it  Hew  out  of  the  pit,  carry 
ing  tin-  three  money  diir.L^'rs  with  it,  head  over  heels, 
to  the  distance  of  two  rods. 

They  picked    themselves  up  dily  as   they 


214  'WAY    DOWN    K  A  s  T  . 

could,  and  ran  for  their  lives  towards  the  house 
When  they  arrived  they  found  mother  Newbegin  up, 
as  usual,  and  trotting  about  the  room.  They  called 
to  her  and  begged  her  to  open  the  door  as  quick  as 
possible.  As  the  old  woman  let  them  in,  she  lixed 
her  sharp  eyes  upon  them  and  exclaimed, 

"  "Well,  if  you've  got  away  alive  you  may  thank 
me  for  it.  I've  kept  the  Bible  open  for  you,  and  a 
candle  burning  before  it,  ever  since  you  left  the  house ; 
and  I  knew  while  the  candle  was  shining  on  the  Bible 
for  you  he  could  n't  touch  you." 

They  were  too  much  agitated  to  enter  into  con 
versation  on  the  subject,  and  being  exceedingly 
exhausted,  they  laid  down  to  rest,  but  not  to  sleep. 
The  night  passed  wearily  away,  and  morning  came. 
The  weather  was  clear  and  pleasant,  and  after  taking 
some  refreshments  they  concluded  to  repair  again  to 
the  scene  of  their  labors,  and  sec  it'  the  money  was 
still  there  and  could  bo  obtained.  Asa  was  very 
reluctant  to  go,  "  He  did  n't  believe  there  was  a 
single  dollar  left."  But  Bill  Stanwood  was  resolute. 
Go  he  would.  Jonathan  said  vt  he  might  as  well  die 
one  way  as  another,  for  lie  never  should  dare  to  go 
home  again  without  carrying  his  wife's  new  gown 
and  morocco  shoes." 


THi;      MoNKY-DHrOEKti      AND     OLD      KI<    C.     -  I  ."» 


So,  after  due  consultation,  they  started  a^ain  for 
the  money-hole.  On  arriving  there,  they  found  their 
tools  and  tlie  general  appearance  <>f  the  place  ju>t  a- 
tjiey  had  left  them.  There  wa-  the  great  tlat  BtOB6, 
lying  ahout  two  rods  from  the  pit.  And  «.n  looking 
into  the  pit,  they  oboerved,  under  the  place  where  the 
Stone  had  laid,  four  large  round  h«»h^  in  the  -and,  all 
of  which  were  much  stained  with  in>n  rust.  They 
got  down  and  e\amine<l  the  place.  There  ha 
dentlv  been  iron  vessels  there;  luit  they  were  gone, 
money  and  all. 

"  Come,"  said  Asa,  "  this  place  smells  rather  too 
ig  of  brimstone  ;  let  us  be  going." 


216  'WAY    DOWN    EAST 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PETER   PUNCTUAL. 

The  names  used  in  the  following  narrative  are  of  course  fictitious ; 
but  the  incidents  all  occurred  substantially  as  here  related,  and  the 
parties  are  respectable  gentlemen  recently  living  and  doing  busi 
ness  in  this  bustling  city  of  New  York.  The  writer  had  the  account 
directly  from  the  lips  of  the  principal  actor. 

SOME  few  years  ago,  Peter  Punctual,  an  honest  and 
industrious  young  fellow  from  Yankee  land — I  say 
Yankee  land,  but  I  freely  confess  that  is  merely  an 
inference  of  mine,  drawn  from  circumstances  of  this 
story  itself;  but  if  my  readers,  after  perusing  it,  do 
not  come  to  the  same  conclusion,  they  may  set  him 
down  as  coming  from  any  other  land  they  please ;  but 
t<>r  myself,  were  I  on  a  jury,  and  under  oath,  I  would 
bring  him  in  a  Yankee.  This  same  Peter  Punctual, 
some  few  years  ago,  came  into  New  York,  and 
attempted  to  turn  a  penny  and  get  an  honest  living  by 
procuring  subscribers  to  various  magazines  and  peri 
odicals,  on  his  own  hook.  That  is,  he  would  receive  a 
quantity  of  magazines  from  a  distant  publisher,  at  a 


!•  |T1  K     rr  \  .    i  r  A  L.  -J  1  7 

discount,  and  get  up  his  own  list  of  subscribers  about 
tlu-  city,  and  serve  them  through  the  year  at  the 
regular  subscription  price,  which  would  leave  the 
amount  of  the  said  discount  a  clear  profit  in  his 
pocket,  or  rather  a  compensation  for  his  time  and 
labor.  There  are  many  persons  in  this  city  who 
obtain  a  livelihood  in  the  same  way. 

Peter's  commissions  being  small,  and  his  capital 
still  smaller,  he  was  obliged  to  transact  his  business 
with  great  care  and  circumspection,  in  order  to  make 
both  c-nd-  meet.  lie  adopted  a  rule,  therefore,  to 
make  all  his  subscribers  pay  their  year's  subscription 
in  advance.  Such  things  could  be  done  in  those  days 
when  liu  si  ness  was  brisk,  and  the  people  were 
strangers  to  "hard  times."  In  canvassing  for  sub 
scribers,  one  day,  through  the  lower  part  of  the  city, 
and  in  the  principal  business  streets,  he  observed  a 
store  which  had  the  air  of  doing  a  heavy  business,  and 
read  upon  the  sign  over  the  door,  "Solomon  Sharp, 
Importer."  The  iield  looked  inviting,  and  in  Peter 
went  with  his  samples  under  his  arm,  and  inquired 
tor  Mr.  Sharp.  The  gentleman  was  pointed  out  to 
him  by  the  clerks,  and  Peter  stepped  up  and  asked 
him  it'  he  would  not  like  to  subscribe  for  some  maga 
zines. 

10 


218 

"What  sort  of  ones  have  you  got  there?"  said 
Mr.  8. 

"  Three  or  four  different  kinds,"  said  Peter,  laying 
the  specimens  on  the  desk  before  him — "  please  to 
look  at  them  and  suit  yourself." 

Sharp  tumbled  them  over  and  examined  them  one 
after  another,  and  at  last  took  up  "Buckingham's 
New  England  Magazine,"  published  at  Boston. 

"What  are  your  terms  for  this?"  said  he ;  "I  don't 
know  but  I  would  subscribe  for  this." 

"  Five  dollars  a  year  in  advance,"  said  Peter,  "  to 
be  delivered  carefully  every  month  at  your  store  or 
house." 

"  But  I  never  pay  in  advance  for  these  things,"  said 
Sharp.  "  It's  time  enough  to  pay  for  a  thing  when 
you  get  it.  I'll  subscribe  for  it,  if  you  have  a  mind 
to  receive  your  pay  at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  not 
otherwise." 

"That's  against  my  rule,"  said  Peter;  "I have  all 
my  subscribers  pay  in  advance." 

"Well,  it's  against  my  rule  to  pay  for  anything 
before  I  get  it,"  said  Sharp;  "so  if  you  have  n't  a 
mind  to  take  my  subscription,  to  be  paid  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  you  won't  get  it  at  all.  That's  the  long 
and  the  short  of  the  matter." 


r  I.  i  I  i:     r  BVOTl  AL.  L'l!» 

Peter  paused  a  little,  and  queried  with  himself  as 
to  what  he  had  hotter  do.     The  man  was  evidently 
doing  a  large  business,  and  was  undoubtedly  rich 
wholesale  dealer  and  an  importer— there  could  not 
possil.lv  l.e  any  danger  of  losing  the  subscription  in 
such  a  case:  and  would  it  not  he  Letter  to  break  o 
his  rule  for  once,  than  to  lose  so  good  a  subscriber. 

"  Well,  what  say  r  >aid  Sharp;  "do  as  you  like; 
but  those  are  my  only  terms.  I  will  not  pay  for  a 
thing  before  I  get  it." 

"  On  the  whole,"  said  Peter,  "  I  have  a  good  mind 
to  Ln-ak  OTO  my  rule  this  time,  for  I  don't  like  to 
lose  a  good  subscriber  when  1  can  find  one.    I  b«D 
I'll  put  your  name  down,  sir.     Where  will  y«.u  have 
it  left  P 

"At  my  house,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  which  was  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  his  store,  aw.-iv  up  town. 

The  business  being  thus  concluded,  Peter  took  up 
his  magazines,  bad.-  Mr.  Sharp  good  morning,  and 
left  the  -tore.  No  further  personal  intercourse 
oeeurrcd  between  th«-m  during  the  year.  Hut  IVh-r, 
who  was  his  own  carrier,  a-  well  as  canva-scr,  regu 
larly  every  month  delivered  the  New  England  Mairu- 
y.ine  at  Mr.  Sharp's  door.  And  in  a  few  days  at 
the  \t-ar  expired,  he  made  out  his  bill  for  the  live  dob 


220 

lars,  and  called  at  Mr.  Sharp's  store  for  the  money. 
He  entered  with  as  much  confidence  that  he  should 
receive  the  chink  at  once,  as  he  would  have  had  in 
going  with  a  check  for  the  like  sum  into  the  Bank  of 
the  United  States,  during  that  institution's  pakmYst 
days.  He  found  Mr.  Sharp  at  his  desk,  and  presented 
him  the  bill.  That  gentleman  took  it  and  looked  at 
it,  and  then  looked  at  Peter. 

"Oh!  ah,  good  morning,"  said  he,  "you  are  the 
young  man  who  called  here  on  this  business  nearly  a 
year  ago.  Well,  the  year  has  come  round,  has  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  has,"  said  Peter. 

"  Well,  bills  of  this  kind,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  are 
paid  at  the  house.  We  don't  attend  to  them  here ; 
you  just  take  it  to  the  house,  any  time  when  you  are 
passing,  and  it  will  be  settled." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  sir,"  said  Peter,  bowing,  and  left 
the  store.  "  Doing  too  large  a  business  at  the  store, 
I  suppose,"  he  continued,  to  himself,  as  lie  walked  up 
tlio  street,  "to  attend  to  little  things  of  this  kind. 
Don't  like  to  be  bothered  with  'em,  probably." 

But  Peter  thought  he  might  as  well  make  a  finish 
of  the  business,  now  he  was  out ;  so  he  went  directly 
to  the  house,  and  rung  at  the  door.  The  servant  girl 
soon  made  her  appearance. 


PET  Kit      1'lNCTl   AL. 

"  Mrs.  Sharp  within  ?"  said  Peter. 

«Y«i,  >ir."  Miid  the  girl. 

"Jest  carry  this  bill  to  her,  if  you  please,  and  ask 
her  it'  she  will  hand  you  the  money  for  it." 

The  girl  took  the  bill  into  the  house,  ami  presently 
returned  with  the  answer,  that  "  Mrs.  Sharp  says  she 
doesn't  pay  none  of  these  'ere  things  here — you  must 
carry  it  to  the  store." 

"Please   to   carry  it  back  to  Mrs.  Sharp,"  said 

Peter,  "  and  tell  her  Mr.  Sharp  desired  me  to  bring 

the  bill  here,  and  said  it  would  be  paid  at  the  house." 

This  me-sage  brought  Mrs.  Sharp  herself  to  the  door, 

to  whom  Peter  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  very  politely. 

"  I  have  n't  nothing  at.  all  to  do  with  the  bills  here 

at  the  house,"  said  the  lady  ;  i  they  must  be  carried 

to  the  store— that's  the  place  to  attend  to  them." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  said  Peter,  "I  carried  it  to  the 
store,  and  presented  it  to  Mr.  Sharp,  and  he  told  me 
to  brinir  it  to  the  house  and  you  would  pay  it  here, 
and  that  he  could  n't  attend  to  it  at  the  store." 

"But  he  could  n't  mean  that  I   should  pay  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Sharp,  "for  he  knows  I  have  n't  the  money." 
"  But  he  said  so,"  said  Pr 

"  Well  then  there  must  be  some  mistake  about  it," 
said  the  lady. 


---  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Peter,  kk  it's 
possible  there  may  be,"  and  he  put  the  bill  in  hia 
pocket,  bowed,  and  left  the  house. 

"  It  is  very  queer,"  thought  Peter  to  himself  as  he 
walked  away  a  little  vexed.  "  I  can't  conceive  how 
there  could  be  any  mistake  about  it,  though  it  is  pos 
sible  there  may  be.  There  couldn't  be  any  mistake 
on  my  part,  for  I'm  sure  I  understood  him.  Maybe 
he  thought  she  had  money  at  the  house  when  she 
had  n't.  I  guess  it  will  all  come  out  right  enough  in 
the  end." 

Consoling  himself  with  these  reflections,  Peter 
Punctual  thought  he  would  let  Mr.  Sharp  rest  two  or 
three  days,  and  not  show  any  anxiety  by  calling  uiram 
in  a  hurry.  He  would  not  be  so  unwise  as  to  offend 
a  good  subscriber,  and  run  the  hazard  of  losing  him, 
by  an  appearance  of  too  much  haste  in  presenting  his 
bills.  Accordingly,  in  about  three  days,  he  called 
again  at  Mr.  Sharp's  store,  and  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice,  so  that  no  one  should  overhear,  if  it  was  con 
venient  for  him  to  take  that  little  bill  for  the  maga 
zine  to-day. 

"But  I  told  you," -Said  Mr.  Sharp,  "to  carry  that 
bill  to  the  house  ;  I  can't  attend  to  it  here." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  I  understood  you,"  said  Peter,  "  and  I 


}•  i    i  !•:  i:     PI   \  c  i  r  A  L  . 

it  t  •  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Sharp  said  she 
could  n't  pay  it  there,  for  she  had  no  money,  and  I 
must  bring  it  to  the  store." 

"Oh,  strange!"  said  Mr.  Sharp  ;  "well,  she  did  n't 
properly  understand  it  then.  But  I  am  too  much 
engaged  to  attend  to  you  to-day  ;  you  call  again,  or 
rail  at  the  house  sometime,  when  1  am  th 

Upon  ^his,  he  turned  to  his  de>k  and  began  to 
write  with  great  earnestness,  and  Peter  left  the  store. 

affair    began    to    grow   a    little   vexati"     . 
Peter  felt   a  little   nettled.     Still,   he  supposed   that 
people  doing  such  very  large  business  ///</  lind  it  diffi 
cult  to  attend  t«»  these  little   matters,  and   doubtlc- 
would  be  set  right  when  he  should  call  again. 

After  waiting  patiently  a  couple   ««f  weeks,  Peter 
called  again  at  Mr.  Sharp's  -tore.     When  he  entered 
the  door,  Mr.  Sharp  was  looking  at  a  newspaper  ;  but 
on  glancing  at  Peter,  he  instantly  dropped  the  p«] 
and  fell   to  writing  at   his   desk  with    givat    rapi^ 
I  V;i-r  waited  respectfully  a  few  minutes,  unwilling  to 
disturb  the  gentleman  till   he  should   appear  to  be  a 
little  more  at  leisure.      P.ut   after  waiting  some  time 
without  seeing  any  prospect  of 'Mr.  Sharp"-  OOmplel 
the  very  pressing  bur-mess  betbiv  him,  he  appn  -ached 
him  with  deference,  and  asked  if  it  would   be  conve- 


224: 


WAY     DOWN      EAST. 


nient  for  him  to  take  that  little  bill  for  the  magazine 
to-day.    Sharp  turned  and  looked  at  Peter  very  sternly . 

"  I  can't  be  bothered  with  these  little  things,''  said 
he  "  when  I  am  so  much  engaged.  I  am  exceedingly 
busy  to-day — a  good  many  heavy  orders  waiting — 
you  must  call  at  the  house,  and  hand  the  bill  to  me  or 
my  wife,  no  matter  which."  And  he  turned  to  his 
desk,  and  continued  to  write,  without  saying  anything 
more. 

Peter  began  to  think  he  had  got  hold  of  a  hard 
customer  :  but  he  had  no  idea  of  giving  up  the  chase. 

He  called  at  the  house  several  times  afterward,  but 
Mr.  Sharp  never  happened  to  be  at  home.  Once  he 
ventured  to  send  the  bill  again  by  the  girl  to  Mrs. 
Sharp,  who  returned  for  answer,  that  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  such  bills  ;  he  must  carry  it  to  the  store. 

At  last,  after  repeated  calls,  he  found  Mr.  Sharp 
one  day  at  home.  He  came  to  the  door,  and  Peter 
presented  the  bill.  Mr.  Sharp  expressed  some  sur 
prise  and  regret  that  he  had  come  away  from  the 
store,  and  forgot  to  put  any  money  in  his  porki-t. 
Peter  would  have  to  call  some  other  day.  Accord 
ingly,  Peter  Punctual  retired,  with  a  full  determin 
ation  to  call  some  other  day,  and  that  not  very  far 
distant ;  for  it  had  now  been  several  months  that  he 


I'KTKR      PUNCTUAL.  -'-'•"' 

ha.l  been  beaten  bark  and  forth  like-  a  shuttle-cock 
between  Mr.  Sharp's  store  and  .Mr.  Sharp's  ktOMa, 
and  he  was  getting  to  be  rather  tiiv«l  of  the  game. 

Having  ascertained  from  tin-  girl  at  what  Innir  the 
family  dined,  he  called  the  next  day  precisely  at  the 
dinner  hour.  lie  rung  at  the  door,  and  when  the 
girl  opened  it,  Peter  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"  Is  Mr.  Sharp  in  ?"  said  Peter. 

-Yes,  sir,"  said  the  girl;  "he's  up  stairs.  I'll 
speak  to  him  if  you  want  to  see  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter,  "  and  I'll  take  a  seat  in  the 
parlor  till  he  comes  down." 

As  he  said  this,  Peter  walked  into  the  parlor  and 
-eated  himself  upon  an  elegant  sola.  The  parlor  was 
richly  furnished  with  Brussels  carpet,  the  best  of 
mahogany  furniture,  a  splendid  piano.  &C.,  Are.  ;  and 
in  the  back  parlor,  to  which  folding  doors  were  open, 
everything  appeared  with  corresponding  elegance. 
A  table  wa<  there  spread,  upon  which  dinner  seemed 
to  b€  Dftaity  ready.  Presently  the  girl  returned  from 
the  chamber,  and  informed  Peter,  that  Mr.  Sharp 
!  -  it  was  jest  the  dinner  hour  now,  and  he  would 
have  to  call  again." 

"  1  Mease  to  go  and  tell  Mr.Sharp."  >aid  Peter,  u  that 
1  inu>t  see  him,  and  I'll  wait  till  he  comes  down." 


10* 


The  girl  carried  the  message,  and  Mr.  Sharp  soon 
made  his  appearance  in  the  parlor.  A  frown  passed 
over  his  brow  as  he  looked  at  Peter  and  saw  him  sit 
ting  so  much  at  ease,  and  apparently  so  much  at 
home,  upon  the  sofa.  Peter  rose  and  asked  him 
politely  if  it  was  convenient  for  him  to  take  that  little 
bill  to-day. 

"  No,"  said  Sharp,  "  it  is  not ;  and  if  it  was,  I 
would  n't  take  it  at  this  hour.  It's  a  very  improper 
time  to  call  upon  such  an  errand  just  as  one  is  going 
to  sit  down  to  dinner.  You  must  call  again  :  but 
don't  call  at  dinner  time ;  or  you  may  drop  into  the 
store  sometime,  and  perhaps  I  may  iind  time  to  at 
tend  to  it  there." 

u  \Vell,  now,  Mr.  Sharp,"  said  Peter,  with  rather  a 
determined  look,  "  I  can't  stand  this  kind  of  business 
any  longer,  that's  a  fact.  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  I  sup 
pose  you  are  a  rich  one.  I  can't  afford  to  lose  five 
dollars,  and  I'm  too  poor  to  spend  any  more-  time  in 
running  after  it  and  trying  to  collect  it.  I  must  oat. 
as  well  as  other  folks,  and  if  you  can't  pay  me  the 
five  dollars  to-day,  to  hoi])  me  pay  my  board  at  my 
regular  boarding-house,  I'll  stay  here  and  board  it 
out  at  your  table." 

"  You  will,  will  you  ?"  said  Sharp,  looking  daggers, 


p  i.'i  r  i;     r  r  .\  «.•  r  r  A  I,  . 

and  stepping  toward  Peter.    u  If  you  give  mo  a  word 
of  your  impudence,  y'>u  may  tind  it'll  be  a  long  time 
ro  you  collect  your  bill." 

••  Ks  been  a  long  time  already,"  said  Peter,  ".and  I 
can't  altV.nl  to  wait  any  longer.  My  mind  is  made 
up :  it'  y..u  don't  pay  me  now,  Fm  going  to  stay  here 
ami  board  it  out." 

Sharp  colored,  and  looked  at  the  door,  and  then  at 
IVtor. 

"Come,  come,  young  man,"  said  he  advancing, 
with  rather  a  threatening  attitude,  toward  Peter,  "  the 
sooner  you  leave  the  house  peaceably  the  better." 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Peter,  tixing  his  black  eyes  upon 
Sharp,  with  an  intenseness  that  lie  could  not  but  feel, 
"  I  am  a  small  man.  and  you  are  cmisideralile  «.f  a 
lariTi'  <>ne;  but  my  min<l  is  made  up.  1  am  n 
to  -tarve.  when  there's  food  enough  that  I  ha\v  an 
honest  claim  upon." 

So  snyinir.  he  tnnk  his  <eat  again  very  deliberately 
upon  t:  Sharp  paused;  he  looked  agitnti-d 

and  anirry  ;  and  after  waiting  a  minute,  apparently 
undreidrd  what  to  do,  he  h-t't  tlio  parlor  and  went  up 
>tair<.  In  a  f«-w  niinutts,  the  servant  rung  for  dinner. 
.-:rp  canu-  int..  tin- dining  ronm  and  took  her 
seat  at  the  head  «.f  the  table.  Mr.  Sharp  followed. 


228  '  \V  AY      DOWN      E  AST. 

and  seated  himself  opposite  his  lady ;  and  between 
them,  and  on  the  right  hand  of  Mrs.  Sharp,  sat  another 
lady,  probably  some  friend  or  relative  of  the  family. 
When  they  were  well  seated,  and  Mr.  Sharp  was 
beginning  to  carve,  Peter  walked  out  of  the  parlor, 
drew  another  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  seated  himself 
very  composedly  opposite  the  last-mentioned  lady. 
Mr.  Sharp  colored  a  good  deal,  but  kept  on  carving. 
Mrs.  Sharp  stared  very  wildly,  first  at  Peter  and  then 
at  her  husband. 

"What  in  the  world  does  this  mean?"  said  she. 
"  Mr.  Sharp,  I  did  n't  know  we  were  to  have  company 
to  dinner." 

"We  are  not,"  said  the  husband.  "This  young 
man  has  the  impudence  to  take  his  seat  at  the  table 
unasked,  and  says  he  is  going  to  board  out  the  amount 
of  the  bill." 

"  Well,  really,  this  is  a  pretty  piece  of  politeness," 
said  Mrs.  Sharp,  looking  very  hard  at  Peter. 

"  Madam,"  said  Peter,  "  hunger  will  drive  a  man 
through  a  stone  wall.  I  must  have  my  board  some 
where." 

No  reply  was  made  to  this,  and  the  dinner  went  on 
without  any  further  reference  to  Peter  at  present. 
Mr.  Sharp  helped  his  wife,  and  then  the  other  lady, 


PETER    ri  WOT  r  AL. 

and  then  himself,  and  they  all  fell  to  eating.  IVt.-r 
looked  around  him  for  a  plate  and  knife  and  fork,  l.ut 
there  were  none  on  the  table  but  what  were  in  use. 
Peter,  however,  was  not  to  be  baffled.  He  reached  a 
plate  of  bread,  and  tipping  the  bread  upon  the  table 
eloth,  appropriated  the  plate  for  his  own  convenie: 
i  !••  then  took  possession  of  the  carving  knife  and  fork, 
helped  himself  bountifully  t«>  meat  and  vegetables, 
and  commenced  eating  his  dinner  with  the  greatest 
composure  imaginable.  These  operations  on  the  part 
of  Peter,  had  the  effect  to  suspend  all  operations  for 
the  time  on  the  part  of  the  rest  of  the  company.  The 
ladies  had  laid  down  their  knives  and  forks,  and  were 
staring  at  Peter  in  wild  astonishment. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Mr.  Sharp,""  said  the  lady  of  the 
house,  "can't  we  pick  up  money  enough  about  the 
hdise  to  pay  this  man  his  five  dollars  and  send  him 
oft'?  I  declare  this  is  too  provoking.  I'll  see  what  I 
can  find." 

With  that  she  rose  and  left  the  room.  Mr.  Sharp 
presently  followed  her.  They  returned  airain  in  a 
minute,  and  Mr.  Sharp  laid  a  live  dollar  bill  before 
IVter.  and  tnld  him  he  would  thank  him  to  leave  the 
house.  Peter  examined  the  bill  to  see  if  it  was  a  good 
.  ami  very  quietly  folded  it  and  put  it  into  his 


230  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

pocket.  He  then  drew  out  a  little  pocket  inkstand 
and  a  piece  of  paper,  laid  it  upon  the  table  before 
him,  wrote  a  receipt  for  the  money,  which  be  banded 
to  Mr.  Sharp,  rose  from  the  table,  bowed  to  the  com 
pany  and  retired,  thinking  as  he  left  the  house  that  he 
had  had  full  enough  of  the  custom  of  Solomon  Sharp, 
the  importer. 

Peter  Punctual  still  followed  his  vocation  of  circu 
lating  magazines.  He  had  no  intention  of  ever 
darkening  the  door  of  Mr.  Solomon  Sharp's  store 
again,  but  somehow  or  other,  two  or  three  years  after, 
as  he  was  canvassing  for  subscribers  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  city,  he  happened  to  blunder  into  the  same 
store  accidentally,  without  noticing  the  name  upon 
the  door.  Nor  did  he  discover  his  mistake,  until  he 
had  nearly  crossed  the  store  and  attracted  the  atten 
tion  of  Mr.  Sharp  himself,  who  was  at  his  accustomed 
seat  at  the  desk  where  Peter  had  before  so  often  Beet 
him.  IVter  thought,  as  he  had  g«»t  fairly  into  the 
store,  he  would  not  back  nut;  so  he  stepped  up  to 
Mr.  Sharp  without  a  look  of  recognition,  and  a-ked 
if  he  would  not  like  to  subscribe  for  some  magazines. 
Mr.  Sharp,  who  either  did  not  recognize  Peter,  or 
chose  not  to  appear  to  recognize  him,  took  the  maga 
zines  and  looked  at  them,  and  found  a  couple  he  said 


1'KTKK      IM'NC'TrAI..  331 

he  would  like  to  take,  and  in.juircd  the  terms.     They 
were  each  three  dollars  a  year  in  advance. 

"But  I  don't  pay  in  advance  for  anything,' 
Sharp.     "  If  you  have  a  mind  to  leave  them  at  my 
house,  to  be  paid  for  at  the  end  of  the  year,  you  may 
put  me  clown  tV»r  these  two." 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "  I  don't  wish  to  take  any  sub 
scribers,  but  those  who  pay  in  advance.'" 

Saying  this,  he  took  up  his  specimens,  and  was 
going  «»ut  the  door,  when  Mr.  Sharp  called  him 
back. 

••  Here  young  man,  you  may  leave  these  two  at  any 
said  he,  "and  here's  your  advance,"  handing 
liim  the  >i\  d-'lhi 

"Where  will  you  have  them  left  f  said 

"At  my  house,  up  town,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  describ 
ing  the  street  and  number. 

The  business  being  completed,  Peter  retired,  much 
astonished  at  his  -rood  luck.  lie  again  became  a 
monthly  visitor  at  Mr.  Sharp's  door,  where  lie  regu 
larly  delivered  to  the  servant  girl  the  two  magazines. 
•r  three  months  after  this,  when  he  called  ..ue 
day  on  his  usual  round,  the  girl  told  him  that  M.-. 
Sharp  wanted  to  see  him,  and  desired  he  wnnl 
at  the  store.  Peter  felt  not  a  little  curious  to  know 


232 

what  Mr.  Sharp  might  have  to  say  to  him  ;  so  in  the 
course  of  the  same  day  he  called  at  Mr.  Sharp's 
store. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Sharp  as  Peter  entered ; 
"  come,  take  a  chair,  and  sit  down  here." 

Peter,  with  a  "  good  morning,  sir,"  did  as  he  was 
desired. 

"  Ain't  you  the  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  with 
a  comical  kind  of  a  look,  "  who  set  out  to  board  out 
a  subscription  to  the  New  England  Magazine  at  my 
house  two  or  three  years  ago." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter,  "  I  believe  I'm  the  same  per 
son  who  once  had  the  honor  of  taking  board  at  your 
house." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  I  want  to  give  you  a 
job." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  Peter. 

"  Here,  I  want  you  to  collect  these  bills  for  me," 
said  Mr.  Sharp,  taking  a  bundle  from  his  desk,  "  for 
Til  be  hanged  if  /can  ;  I've  tried  till  I'm  tired." 

Whereupon  he  opened  the  bundle  and  assorted  out 
the  bills,  and  made  a  schedule  of  them,  amounting, 
in  the  aggregate,  to  about  a  thousand  dollars. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  I  will  give  upon  that  list  ten 
per  cent,  commission  on  all  you  collect;  and  on  that 


I-  I    1  K  K      PUNCTUAL. 

list  I'll  give  you  twenty-five  per  cent,  on  all  you  col 
lect.  What  say  you  ?  will  you  undertake  the  job?" 

"  Well,  I'll  try,"  said  Peter,  "  and  see  what  I  can 
do  with  them.  How  soon  must  I  return  them  ?" 

"Take  your  own  time  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Sharp; 
"  I've  seen  enough  of  you  to  know  pretty  well  what 
you  are." 

Peter  accordingly  took  the  bills  and  entered  on  his 
new  task,  following  it  up  with  diligence  and  perseve 
rance.  In  a  lew  weeks  he  called  again  at  Sharp's 
store. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  have  you  made  out  to 
collect  anything  on  those  bills  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter. 

"There  were  some  of  the  ten  per  cent,  list  that.  1 
thought  it  probable  you  might  collect,"  said  Mr. 
Sharp.  M  1 1<>\\*  many  have  you  collected?" 

"All  of  them,"  nid  Peter. 

"All  <>f  tin-ill!"  said  Mr.  Sharp;  "well,  fact,  that's 
much  more  than  1  <1.  The  twenty-live  prr 

crnt.  list  was  all  dead  dogs,  wasn't  it?  You  got 
n« >th ing  on  them,  I  suppose,  did  you?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Peter. 

"  Did  you  though  ?     How  much  ?"  said  Sharp. 

"  I  got  them  all,"  said  Peter. 


:tf  t 

"  Oh,  that's  all  a  joke,"  said  Sharp. 

"  No,  it  is  n't  a  joke,"  said  Peter.  "  I've  collected 
every  dollar  of  them,  and  here's  the  money,"  taking 
out  his  pocket-book,  and  counting  out  the  bills. 

Mr.  Sharp  received  the  money  with  the  most  per 
fect  astonishment.  He  had  not  expected  one-half  of 
the  amount  would  ever  be  collected. 

He  counted  out  the  commissions  on  the  ten  per  cent, 
list,  and  then  the  commissions  on  the  twenty-live  per 
cent,  list,  and  handed  the  sum  over  to  Peter.  And 
then  he  counted  out  fifty  dollars  more,  and  asked  Peter 
to  accept  that  as  a  present ;  "partly,"  said  he,  "because 
you  have  accomplished  this  task  so  very  far  beyond 
my  expectations,  and  partly  because  my  acquaintance 
witli  you  has  taught  me  one  of  the  best  lessons  of  my 
life.  It  has  taught  me  the  value  of  perseverance  and 
punctuality.  I  have  reflected  upon  it  much  ever 
since  you  undertook  to  board  out  the  bill  for  the 
magazine  at  my  house." 

"Why  yes,"  said  Peter,  "I  think  perseverance  and 
punctuality  are  great  helps  in  the  way  of  busineso." 

"  If  every  person  in  the  community,"  said  Mr. 
Sharp,  "would  make  it  a  point  to  pay  all  of  his  bills 
promptly,  the  moment  they  become  due,  what  a  vast 
improvement  it  would  make  in  the  condition  of 


PETER     PUNCTUAL.  235 

society  all  round.  That  would  put  people  in  a  condi 
tion,  at  all  times,  to  be  able  to  pay  their  bills  prompt- 

iy." 

We   mi*rht    add,    that   Peter   Punctual    afterward 

*»» 
opened  a  store  in  the  city,  in  a  branch  of  business 

which  brought  Mr.  Sharp  to  be  a  customer  t<>  him, 
and  he  has  been  one  of  his  best  customers  ever  since, 
pavin-r  all  of  his  bills  promptly,  and  whenever  Peter 
requires  it,  even  paying  in  advance. 


236 


WAY     DOWN     EAST. 


CIIAPTEK   X. 

THE    SPECULATOR. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1836,  while  travelling  through  a 
portion  of  the  interior  of  the  State  of  Maine,  I  stopped 
at  a  small  new  village,  between  the  Kennebec  and 
Penobscot  rivers,  nearly  a  hundred  miles  from  the 
sea-board,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  my  horse  a  little 
rest  and  provender,  before  proceeding  some  ten  miles 
farther  that  evening.  It  was  just  after  sunset ;  I  was 
walking  on  the  piazza,  in  front  of  the  neat  new 
tavern,  admiring  the  wildness  of  the  surrounding 
country,  and  watching  the  gathering  shadows  of  the 
grey  twilight,  as  it  fell  upon  the  valleys,  and  crept 
softly  up  the  hills,  when  a  light  one-horse  wagon, 
with  a  single  gentleman,  drove  rapidly  into  the  yard, 
and  stopped  at  the  stable  door. 

"Tom,"  said  the  gentleman  to  the  ostler  as  he 
jumped  from  his  wagon,  "  take  my  mare  out,  rub  her 
down  well,  and  give  her  four  quarts  of  oats.  Be 
spry,  now,  Tom  ;  you  need  n't  give  her  any  water,  for 


T  ii  i:     -  r  i  «   t   i.  A  TO  K.  ~;'7 

she  sweat-  like  fury.     I'll  irive  her  a  little  when  I  am 
ready  to  start." 

Tom  sprang  with  uncommon  alacrity  to  obey  the 
orders  he  had  received,  and  the  stranger  walked 
t«. \vanl  tfce  house.  1I«-  was  ft  tall,  middle-aged  gentle 
man,  rather  thin,  hut  well  proportioned,  and  well 
dressed.  It  was  the  season  of  the  year  when  the 
weather  be^an  t<>  ^mw  chilly,  and  the  evenings  cold  ; 
and  the  frock-coat  of  the  stranger,  trimmed  with  fur, 
and  buttoned  to  the  throat,  while  it  insured  comfort, 
ed  also  to  exhibit  his  line  elastic  form  to  the  best 
advantage.  His  little  wairon.  too,  had  a  marked  air 
Of  OOm&rl  about  it;  there  were  the  -jirin^-seat,  the 
j-tutfed  cushions,  and  builalo  n.bes  ;  all  seemed  to  in 
dicate  a  gentleman  of  ease  and  leisure  ;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  rapid  movements  and  prompt  manner, 
lu-t.'keiied  the  man  of  business.  As  he  stepped  on  to 
the  piaxxa,  with  his  lonir  and  handsome  driving-whip 
in  his  hand,  the  tavern-keeper,  who  was  a  brisk  young 

man,  and  well  understood  his  business,  met  hin^  with 
a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  and  a  familiar  "How  are 
you,  Colond  (  Come,  walk  in." 

re  was  something  about  the  M ranker  that 
>tr..n«rly  attracted  my  attention,  r.nd  I  foil. .wed  him 
into  the  bar-room.  He  step)ie«l  up  to  the  bar,  laid 


238  '  \\    A  V       DOWN      EAST. 

his  whip  on  the  counter,  and  culled  for  a  glass  of 
brandy  and  water,  with  some  small  crackers  and 
cheese. 

"  But  not  going  to  stop  to  supper,  Colonel  ?  Going 
farther  to-night  ?"  inquired  the  landlord,  as  he  pushed 
forward  the  brandy  bottle. 

"  Can't  stop  more  than  ten  minutes,"  replied  the 
stranger;  "just  long  enough  to  let  the  mare  eat  her 
oats." 

"  Is  that  the  same  mare,"  asked  the  host,  "  that 
you  had  when  you  were  here  last  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  colonel :  "  I've  drove  her 
thirty  miles  since  dinner,  and  am  going  forty  miles 
farther,  before  I  stop." 

"  But  you'll  kill  that  mare,  colonel,  as  sure  as 
rates,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  she's  too  likely  a  beast  to 
drive  to  death." 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  she's  tough  as  a  pitch- 
knot  ;  I  feed  her  well ;  she'll  stand  it,  I  guess.  I  go 
to  Norridgewock  before  I  sleq>  to-night." 

With  a  few  more  brief  remarks,  tlm  stranger  finish 
ed  his  brandy,  and  crackers  and  cheese ;  he  threw 
down  some  change  on  the  counter,  onli-ivd  his  car 
riage  brought  to  the  door,  and  bidding  his  landlord 
good  night,  jumped  into  his  wagon,  cracked  his  whip 


,  ii  K     s  r  i:  0  i   i.  A  i  .-  i:  . 

and  was  oft*  like  a  bird.  After  In-  was  gone,  I  ven 
tured  to  exercise  the  Yankee  privilege  of  asking 
u  who  lie  might  be." 

"  That's  Colonel  Kingston,"  said  the  landlord;  "a 
queer  sort  of  a  chap  he  is,  too;  a  real  go-ahead  sort 
of  a  fellow  as  ever  I  met  with;  does  more  more  busi 
ness  in  one  day  than  some  folks  would  do  in  a  year. 
He's  a  right  good  customer;  always  full  of  money, 
and  pay-  well." 

"What  business  or  profession  does  he  follow?"  I 
asked. 

"  Why,  not  any  particular  business,"  replied  the 
landlord;  u  lie  kind  o'  speculates  round,  and  sich 
like." 

"But,"  said  I,  "I  thought  the  speculation  in  timber- 
lands  was  over;  I  didn't  know  that  a  single  person 
could  be  found,  now,  to  purchase  lands." 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  exactly  that  kind  of  speculation,"  said 
the  landlord;  "he's  got  a  knack  of  buying  out  folks' 
farm<;  land,  house,  barn,  live  stock,  hay,  and   pr 
sions,  all  in  the  lump." 

"  Where  does  he  live?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  he's  lived  round  in  a  number  of  places, 
be'fl  IM-CH  in  these  parts.     He's  been   round   in  these 
towns  only  a  year  or  two,  and  it's  astonishing  to  see 


240  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

how  much  property  he's  accumulated.  He  stays  in 
Mouson  most  of  the  time,  now.  That's  where  he 
came  from  this  afternoon.  They  say  he's  got  a  number 
of  excellent  farms  in  Monson,  and  I'll  warrant  he's  got 
some  deeds  of  some  more  of  'em  with  him,  now,  that 
he's  going  to  carry  to  Norridgewock  to-night,  to  put 
on  record." 

I  bade  the  landlord  good  evening,  and  proceeded  on 
my  journey.  What  I  had  seen  and  heard  of  Colonel 
Kingston,  had  made  an  unwonted  impression  on  my 
mind ;  and  as  Monson  lay  in  my  route,  and  I  was 
expecting  to  stop  there  a  few  days,  my  curiosity  was 
naturally  a  little  excited,  to  learn  something  more  of 
his  history.  The  next  day  I  reached  Monson  ;  and  as  I 
rode  over  its  many  hills,  and  along  its  fine  ridges  of 
arable  land,  I  was  struck  with  the  number  of  fine 
farms  which  I  passed,  and  the  evidences  of  thrift  and 
good  husbandry  that  surrounded  me.  As  this  town 
was  at  that  time  almost  on  the  extreme  verge  of  the 
settlements  in  that  part  of  the  state,  I  was  surprised 
to  find  it  so  well  settled,  and  under  such  good  cultiv 
turn.  My  surprise  was  increased,  on  arriving  at  th 
centre  of  the  town,  to  find  a  flourishing  and  bright- 
looking'  village,  with  two  or  three  stores,  a  variety  of 
mechanics'  shops,  a  school-house,  and  a  neat  little 


I  ii  LTOm.  L'l  1 

church,  painted  white,  with  green  Minds,  and  sur- 
m.mnted  by  a  bell.  A  little  to  the  westward  of  the 
village,  was  one  of  those  clear  and  beautiful  ponds, 
that  greet  the  eye  of  the  traveller  in  almost  every 
hour's  ride  in  that  section  of  the  country ;  and  on  its 
outlet,  which  ran  through  the  village,  stood  a  mill,  and 
some  small  manufacturing  establishments,  that  served 
to  fill  up  the  picture. 

••Happy  town!''  thought  I,  "that  has  such  a 
delightful  village  for  its  centre  of  attraction,  and  happy 
village  that  is  supported  by  surrounding  farmers  of 
such  thrift  and  industry  as  those  of  Monson!"  All 
this,  too,  I  had  found  within  a  dozen  or  fifteen  miles 
of  Moosehead  Lake,  the  noblest  and  most  extensive 
sheet  of  water  in  New  England,  which  I  had  hitherto 
considered  so  far  embosomed  in  the  deep,  trackless 
t»rest,  as  to  be  almost  unapproachable,  save  by  the 
wild  Indian  <>r  the  daring  hunter.  A  new  light  seemed 
to  burst  np<m  me ;  and  it  was  a  pleasant  thought  that 
led  me  to  look  forward  but  a  few  years,  when  the  rug 
ged  and  wild  shores  of  the  great  Moosehead  should 
resound  with  the  hum  and  the  song  of  the  husband 
man,  and  on  every  side  rich  farms  and  lively  vilages 
should  I-.  i  its  bosom. 

I  had  been  quietly  seated  in  the  village  inn  but  a 
11 


242 

short  time,  in  a  room  that  served  both  for  bar  and 
sitting-room,  when  a  small  man,  with  a  Happed  hat, 
an  old  brown  "  wrapper,"  a  leather  strap  buckled 
round  his  waist,  ai.nl  holding  a  goad-stick  in  his  hand, 
entered  the  room,  and  took  a  seat  on  a  bench  in  the 
corner.  His  bright,  restless  eye  glanced  round  the 
room,  and  then  seemed  to  be  bent  thoughtfully  toward 
the  fire,  while  in  the  arch  expression  of  his  counte 
nance  I  thought  I  beheld  the  prelude  to  some  impor 
tant  piece  of  intelligence,  that  was  struggling  for 
utterance.  At  last,  said  he,  addressing  the  landlord, 
"  I  guess  the  colonel  ain't  about  home  to-day,  is  he  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Boniface,  "  he's  been  gone  since 
\v -ten  lay  morning;  he  said  he  was  going  up  into 
your  neighborhood.  Have  n't  you  seen  anything  of 
him?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  man  with  the  goad-stick,  "  I 
see  him  yesterday  afternoon  about  two  o'clock,  start 
ing  off  like  a  streak,  to  go  to  Norridgewock." 

"Gone  to  Norridgewock !"  said  the  landlord; 
"what  for?  He  didn't  say  nothing  about  going 
when  he  went  away." 

"  More  deeds,  I  guess,"  said  the  little  teamster. 
"  He's  worried  Deacon  Stone  out  of  his  farm,  at 
last." 


![••  han't   Lr»t   I)C;K-'>II  Sti>ric'«   f:inn. 


THE     SPECULATOR.  -M  ' 

"He  hasn't  got  Deacon  Stone's  farm,  has  he?" 
exclaimed  the  landlord. 

"Deacon  Stone's  lann!"  reiterated  an  elderly, 
sober-looking  man,  drawing  a  long  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  which  he  had  until  now  been  quietly  smoking 
in  the  opposite  corner. 

"  Deacon  Stone's  farm  !"  uttered  the  landlady,  with 
upraised  hands,  as  she  entered  the  room  just  in  season 
to  hear  the  announcement. 

"Deacon  Stone's  farm!''  exclaimed  three  or  four 
others,  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  all  turning  an 
•r  l«>(.k  toward  the  little  man  with  the  goad-stick. 
As  soon  as  there  was  a  sufficient  pause  in  these 
exclamations,  to  allow  the  teamster  to  put  in  another 
word,  lie  repeated  : 

"Yes,  he's  worried  the  deacon  out,  at  last,  and 
hold  of  his  iarm,as  >lick  as  a  whistle.  He's  been 
kind  o'  edging  round  the  deacon  this  three  weeks,  a 
little  to  a  time  ;  jest  enough  to  find  out  how  to  get 
the  right  side  of  him;  for  the  deacon  was  a  good 
deal  otlish,  and  yesterday  morning  the  colonel  was  up 
there  by  the  time  the  deacon  had  done  breakfast:  and 
he  i^ot  them  into  tin  '  fofW  room,  and  shot  the 

door  ;  and  there  they  r-taid  till  dinner  was  ready,  and  had 
waited  for  them  an  hour,  before  they  would  come  out. 


244 

And  when  they  had  come  out,  the  job  was  all  done  ; 
and  the  deed  was  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered.  I'd 
Itccn  there  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  deacon's 
wife  and  the  gals  were  in  terrible  fidgets  for  fear  <>f 
what  was  going  on  in  t'other  room.  They  starts  1  t«» 
go  in,  two  or  three  times,  but  the  door  was  fastem-il, 
so  they  had  to  keep  out.  After  dinner  I  went  over 
again,  and  got  there  just  before  they  were  out  of  the 
fore  room.  The  deacon  asked  the  colonel  to  stop  to 
dinner,  but  I  guess  the  colonel  see  so  many  sour  looks 
about  the  house,  that  he  was  afraid  of  a  storm  abrew- 
ing ;  so  he  only  ketched  up  a  piece  of  bread  and 
cheese,  and  said  he  must  be  a-goin'.  He  jumped  into 
his  wagmi,  and  give  his  mare  a  cut,  and  was  out  of 
Mirlit  in  two  minutes." 

"  How  did  poor  Mrs.  Stone  feel  ?"  asked  the  land 
lady  ;  "I  should  thought  she  would  a-died." 

"  She  looked  as  if  she'd  turn  milk  sour  quicker  than 
a  thunder-shower,"  said  the  teamster :  "  and  Jane 
went  into  the  bedroom,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  I  believe  they  did  n't  any  of  'em  make 
out  to  eat  any  dinner,  and  I  thought  the  deacon  felt 
about  as  bad  a-  any  of  'em,  after  all ;  for  I  never  see 
him  look  so  kind  o'  riled  in  my  lite.  <  Now  Mrs. 
Stone,'  said  he  to  his  wife,  'you  think  I've  done 


r  i!  ]•:     s  i- 1:«   i   i.  A  r  DB. 

:  but  after  talking  ah  mi:  with  Colonel  K '  I 
ston,  1  made  up  my  niiiul  it  would  ho  for  the  best.' 
•She  did  n't  make  him  any  answer,  hut  begun  to  cry, 
and  went  out  of  the  room.  The  deacon  looked  as  if 
••uld  sink  into  the  'arth.  He  stood  a  minute  or 
two*  M  ii'  he  wasn't  looking  at  nothing,  and  then  he 
took  down  his  pipe  off  the  mantel,  and  sat  down  in 
tlie  corner,  and  went  to  smoking  as  hard  as  he  could 
smoke. 

"  After  a  while,  lie  turned  round  to  me,  and  says  he, 
lihor,  I  don't  know  but  I've  done  wrong.' 
'  AVell,'  says  I,  *  in  my  opinion,  that  depends  upon 
what  sort  of  a  barirain  you've  made.  If  you've  got  a 
good  bargain  out  of  the  colonel,  I  don't  see  why  his 
m«mey  isn't  worth  as  much  as  anybody's,  or  why 
another  farm  as  good  as  your'n  isn't  worth  as  much.' 
*  Yes,'  said  the  deacon,  l  so  it  seems  to  me.  I've 
got  a  good  harirain.  I  know;  it's  more  than  tlie 
farm  is  worth.  I  never  considered  it  worth  more 
than  two  thousand  dollars,  stock,  and  hay,  and  all  ; 
and  he  take-  the  whole  jest  as 'tis,  and  gives  me  three 
thousand  d-  .liars.'  <  Is  it  pay  down  ?'  says  I.  *  Yes,' 
says  he,  ;  if-  all  pay  down.  ITe  irives  me  three 
hundred  dollars  in  cash;  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket  ; 
and  then  he  gives  me  an  order  on  Saundere'  store  for 


246  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

two  hundred  dollars ;  that's  as  good  as  money,  you 
know;  for  we  are  always  wanting  one  thinir  <>r 
another  out  of  his  store.  Then  he  gives  me  a  deed  of 
live  hundred  acres,  of  land,  in  the  upper  part  of  Ver 
mont,  at  five  dollars  an  acre.  That  makes  up  three 
thousand  dollars.  But  that  isn't  all;  he  says  this 
land  is  richly  worth  seven  dollars  an  acre  ;  well  tim 
bered,  and  a  good  chance  to  get  the  timber  down  ; 
and  he  showed  me  certificates  of  several  respectable 
men,  that  had  been  all  over  it,  and  they  said  it  was 
well  worth  seven  dollars.  That  gives  me  two  dollars 
clear  profit  on  an  acre,  which  on  five  hundred  acres 
makes  a  thousand  dollars.  So  that  instead  of  three 
thousand  dollars,  I  s'pose  I've  really  got  four  thousand 
for  the  farm.  But  then  it  seems  to  work  up  the  feel 
ings  of  the  women  folks  so,  t«>  think  of  leaving  it,  after 
we've  got  it  so  well  under  way,  that  I  don't  know 
but  I've  done  wrong.'  And  his  feelings  came  ovw 
him  so,  that  he  begun  to  smoke  away  again  as  hard 
as  he  could  draw.  I  did  n't  know  what  to  say  to  him, 
for  I  did  n't  believe  he  would  ever  get  five  hundred 
dollars  for  his  five  hundred  acres  of  land,  so  I  got  up 
and  went  home." 

As  my  little  goad-stick  teamster  made  a  pause  here, 
the  elderly  man  in  the  opposite  corner,  who  had  sat 


TI;  'BCULATOB. 

all  tlii-  time  knocking  hi-  pip»--li..wl  "ii  tin-  thiimluiuil 
..I' hi-  K-t'f  luuul,  tonk  ii}>  the  thread  of  discoi; 

u  I'm  afraid,"  sa\-  In-,  l«»okinir  ii|>  at   the  landlord, 

"  Tin  afraid  Deacon  Stone  has  got  tricked  out  of  hi< 

farm  for  a  mere  s<»nir.     That  C«.l«  >uel  Kin ---ton,  in  my 

opinion,  is  a  (lan-vmus  man,  and  niiirht  to  be  looked 

r." 

"  Well,  I  declare  I"  said  the  landlord,  "I'd  no  idee 
lie  would  get  hold  of  Deacon  Stone's  farm.  That's 
OIK-  •  .frlii-  l'e-t  farms  in  the  town." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man  with  the  pipe,  "and  that 
makes  seven  of  the  "best  farms  in  t«>\vn  th; 
hold  of  already  ;  and  what  '11  be  the  end  of  it,  I  don't 
know;  but  I  think  something  ought  to  be  done  about 
it." 

"  Well,  there,"  said  the  landlady,  "  I  do  pity  Mrs. 
tV'.ni  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  she'll  never  iret. 
over  it  the  longest  day  she  lives." 

II  re  the  little  man  with  the  goad-stick,  l..,,k in ir  <>m 
the  window,  saw  his  team  starting  off  up  the  road, 
and  he  flew  out  of  the  |door,  screaming  "  Hush! 
wli..;i !  hush!"  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him. 
l.ut  my  curiosity  W8fl  now  too  much  excited,  with 

1  to  Colonel  Kingston's  mysterious  opera 
:»iul  my  sympathies  for  good  Deacon  S  d   his 


248  'WAV    60  w  \     i .  A  s  T  . 

fellow-sufferers,   were  too  thoroughly   a  wakened,   to 
allow  me  to  rest  without  farther  inquir 

During  the  days  that  I  remained  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  I  learned  that  he  came  from  Vermont ;  that  lie 
had  visited  Monson  several  times  within  a  year  <>r 
two,  and  had  made  it  his  home  there  for  tli* 
few  months.  During  that  time  he  had  exercised  an 
influence  over  some  of  the  honest  and  sober-minded 
farmers  of  Monson,  that  was  perfectly  unaccountable. 
He  was  supposed  to  be  a  man  of  wealth,  for  he  never 
seemed  to  lack  money  for  any  operation  he  chose  to 
undertake.  He  had  a  bold,  dashing  air,  and  rather 
fascinating  manners,  and  his  power  over  those  with 
whom  he  conversed  had  become  so  conspicuous,  that 
it  was  regarded  as  an  inevitable  consequence  in 
Monson,  if  a  farmer  chanced  to  get  shut  up  in  a  room 
with  Colonel  Kingston,  he  was  a  "  gone  goose,"  and 
sure  to  come  out  well  stripped  of  his  feathers.  He 
had  actually  got  possession  of  seven  or  eight  of  the 
best  farms  in  the  town,  for  about  one  quarter  part  of 
their  real  value. 

It  may  be  thought  unaccountable,  that  thriving,  sen 
sible  farmers  could  in  so  many  instances  be  duped ; 
but  there  were  some  extraneous  circumstances  that 
helped  to  produce  the  result.  The  wild  spirit  of  spec- 


THE     IPBOULATOB*  249 

ul:iti«»n,  which  had  raged  throughout  the  country  for 
two  "i-  three  years,  had  pervaded  almost  every  mind, 
and  rendered  it  restless,  and  desirous  of  change.  And 
then  the  seasons,  for  a  few  years  pa>t.  had  heen  cold 
and  unfavorable.  The  tanner  had  sowed  and  had  not 
reaped,  and  lie  was  discouraged.  If  he  could  sell,  he 
would  go  to  a  warmer  climate.  These  influences, 
added  t<>  his  own  powers  of  adroitness  and  skill  in 
making  "the  worse  appear  the  better  reason,"  had 
enabled  Colonel  Kingston  to  inveigle  the  farmers  of 
Monson  out  of  their  hard-earned  property,  and  turn 
them,  houseless  and  poor,  upon  the  world. 

The  public  mind  had  become  much  excited  upon 
the  subject,  and  the  case  of  Deacon  Stone  added  fresh 
fuel  to  the  fire.  It  was  in  this  state  of  affairs  that  I 
left  Monson,  and  heard  no  more  of  Colonel  Kingston 
until  the  following  summer,  when  another  journey 
called  me  into  that  neighborhood,  and  I  learned  the 
se« } u el  to  hip  fortunes.  The  colonel  made  but  few 
more  conquests,  after  his  victory  over  Deacon  Stone; 
and  the  experience  of  a  cold  and  cheerless  winter, 
which  soon  overtook  them,  brought  the  deluded 
farmers  to  their  senses.  The  trilling  sums  of  money 
which  they  received  in  hand,  were  ftOOD  exhausted  in 

providing  necessary  supplies  for  tlieir  families;  and 
11* 


250 

the  property  which  they  had  obtained,  as  principal 
payment  for  their  farms,  turned  out  to  be  of  little  value, 
or  was  so  situated  that  they  could  turn  it  to  no  profit 
able  account.  Day  after  day,  through  the  winter,  the 
excitement  increased,  and  spread,  and  waxed  more 
intense,  as  the  unfortunate  condition  of  the  sufferers 
became  more  generally  known.  "  Colonel  Kingston  " 
was  the  great  and  absorbing  topic  of  discussion,  at 
the  stores,  at  the  tavern,  at  evening  parties,  and  sleigh- 
rides,  and  even  during  intermission  at  church,  on  the 
Sabbath. 

The  indignation  of  the  people  had  readied  that 
pitch  which  usually  leads  to  acts  of  violence. 
Colonel  Kingston  was  now  regarded  as  a  monster, 
preying  upon  the  peace  and  happiness  of  society,  and 
various  were  the  expedients  proposed  to  rid  the  town 
of  him.  The  schoolboys,  in  the  several  districts, 
discussed  the  matter,  and  resolved  to  form  a  grand 
company,  to  snowball  him  out  of  town,  and  only 
waited  a  nod  of  approbation  from  some  of  their 
parents  or  teachers,  to  carry  their  resolutions  into 
effect.  Some  reckless  young  men  were  for  seizin g 
him,  and  giving  him  a  public  horse-whipping,  in 
front  of  the  tavern  at  mid-day,  and  in  presence  of  the 
whole  village.  Others,  equally  violent,  but  less 


Til  K      >  i'  1C  I    1-  A   1  o  1C  .  L'.M 

darinir,  proposed  catching  liini  nm,  some  dark  even- 
in^  irivini:  liini  a  good  coat  of  tar-and-feathere,  and 
riding  him  out  of  town  on  a  rail.  But  the  older, 
moiv  experienced,  ind  sober-minded  men,  shook  their 
lu-ad>  at  these  rash  projects,  and  said:  "It  is  a  bad 
plan  for  people  to  take  the  law  ink*  their  own  hands ; 
as  long  as  we  live  under  good  laws,  it  is  best  to  be 
governed  by  them.  Such  kind  of  squabbles  as  you 
v.'iuiir  folks  want  to  get  into,  most  always  turn  out 
bad  in  the  end." 

So  reasoned  the  old  folks  ;  but  tlitey  were  neverthe 
less  as  eager  and  as  determined  to  get  rid  of  Colonel 
Kingston,  as  were  the  young  ones,  though  more  cau 
tions  and  circum>pect  as  to  the  means.  At  last,  after 
many  consultations  and  much  perplexity,  Deacon 
Stone  declared  one  day,  with  much  earnestness,  to  his 
_'hbors  and  townsmen,  who  were  assembled  at  the 
village,  that  "For  his  part,  he  believed  it  was  best  to 
appeal  at  once  to  the  laws  of  the  land  ;  and  it'  ///.// 
wouldn't  giv*  protection  to  the  citizen,  he  didn't 
know  what  would.  For  himself,  he  verily  believed 
Colonel  Kinir-ton  miirht  bo  charged  with  swindling, 
and  it'  a  complaint  was  to  be  made  to  the  Grand  Jury 
:M  n't  !>t;.  eve  but  they  would  have  him  indicted 
and  tried  in  Court,  and  give  hack  the  people  their 


252 

farms  again."  The  deacon  spoke  feelingly,  on  the 
subject,  and  his  words  found  a  ready  response  in  the 
hearts  of  all  present.  It  was  at  once  agreed  to  pre 
sent  Colonel  Kingston  to  the  Grand  Jury,  when  the 
Court  should  next  be  in  session  at  Porridge wock. 
Accordingly,  when  the  next  Court  was  held,  Monson 
was  duly  represented  before  the  grand  inquest  for  the 
county  of  Somerset,  and  such  an  array  of  facts  and 
evidence  was  exhibited,  that  the  Jury,  without  hesita 
tion,  found  a  bill  against  the  colonel  for  swindling,  and 
a  warrant  was  immediately  issued  for  his  apprehension. 
This  crisis  had  been  some  months  maturing,  and 
the  warm  summer  had  now  commenced.  The  forest 
trees  were  now  in  leaf;  and  though  the  ground  was 
yet  wet  and  muddy,  the  days  began  to  be  hot  and 
uncomfortable.  It  was  a  warm  moonlight  evening, 
when  the  officer  arrived  at  Monson  with  the  warrant. 
He  had  taken  two  assistants  with  him,  mounted  on 
fleet  horses,  and  about  a  dozen  stout  young  men  of 
the  village  were  in  his  train  as  voliuUeers.  They 
approached  the  tavern  where  Colonel  Kingston 
boarded,  and  just  as  they  were  turning  from  the  road 
up  to  the  house,  the  form  of  a  tall,  slim  person  was 
seen  in  the  bright  moonlight,  gliding  from  the  back 
door,  and  crossing  the  garden. 


THI-:    frr.crLATOR.  253 


"There  he  goesi"  exclaimed  a  dozen  Monson  voices 
at  once  ;  "  that's  lie  !—  there  lie  goes  1" 

And  sure  enough,  it  was  he!  Whether  he  had  been 
notified  of  his  danger,  hy  some  traitor,  or  had  seen 
froin  the  window  the  approach  of  the  party,  and  sus- 

•••(1  mi-chief  was  at  hand,  was  never  known.  But 
the  moment  he  heard  these  exclamations,  he  sprang 
fr.'m  the  ground  as  if  a  bullet  liad  pierced  his  heart. 
He  darted  across  the  garden,  leaped  the  fence  at  a 
hound,  and  flew  over  the  adjacent  pa-tuiv  with  the 

••d  ,,f  a  race-horse.  In  a  moment  the  whole  party 
were  in  full  pursuit;  and  in  five  minutes  more,  a 
hundred  men  and  boys,  of  all  ages,  roused  hy  the  cry 
that  now  ranir  through  the  village,  were  out,  and  join- 

in  tin-  race.  The  fields  were  rouirh,  and  in  some 
places  quite  wet,  so  that  runniiiir  acr««ss  them  was 
rather  a  dillicult  and  hazardous  hnsiness.  Tlie  direc 
tion  which  Kingston  at  first  seemed  inclined  to  take, 
would  lead  him  into  the  main  road,  beyond  the  corner, 

:  1  v  a  half  a  mile  off.  But  those  wh<  .  were  m<  >u: 
put  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  reaching  the  spot  before 
him,  headed  him  off  in  another  direction.  He  now 
Hew  from  field  to  Held,  leaping  ti'iiee  after  fence,  and 
apparently  aiming  for  the  deep  forest,  on  the  eastern 
part  «  -f  the  town.  Many  of  his  pursuers  were  athletic 


254 

young  men,  and  they  gave  him  a  hot  chase.  Even 
Deacon  Stone,  who  had  come  to  the  village  that  even 
ing  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  officer — even  the  dea 
con,  now  in  the  sixty-first  year  of  his  age,  ran  like  a 
boy.  He  kept  among  the  foremost  of  the  pursuers,  and 
once  getting  within  about  a  dozen  rods  of  the  fugitive, 
his  zeal  burst  forth  into  words,  and  he  cried  out,  in  a 
tremulous  voice :  "Stop!  you  infernal  villain ! — stop!" 
This  was  the  nearest  approach  he  had  made  to  profa 
nity  for  forty  years ;  and  when  the  sound  of  the  w«  >rds 
he  had  uttered  fell  full  on  his  ear,  his  nerves  received 
such  a  shock  that  his  legs  trembled  and  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  sustain  his  former  speed. 

The  colonel,  however,  so  far  from  obeying  the 
emphatic  injunction  of  the  deacon,  rather  seemed  to 
be  inspired  by  it  to  new  efforts  of  flight.  Over  log, 
bog  and  brook,  stumps,  stones  and  fences,  he  flew  like 
a  wild  deer  ;  and  after  a  race  of  some  two  miles,  during 
which  he  was  at  no  time  more  than  twenty  rods  from 
some  of  his  pursuers,  he  plunged  into  a  thick  dark  for 
est.  Hearing  his  adversaries  close  upon  him,  after  he 
had  entered  the  wood,  and  being  almost  entirely 
i  xhausted,  ho  threw  himself  under  the  side  of  a  large 
fallen  tree,  where  he  was  darkly  sheltered  by  a  thick 
clump  of  alders.  His  pursuers  rushed  furiously  on, 


T  ii  i.     .-  }'  1. 1   i    i.  A  1  •>  i:  .  255 

many  of  them  within  his  hearing,  and  some  of  them 

]>a»inir  over  the  very  tree  under  which  lie  lay.  After 
scouring  the  i'urest  for  a  mile  round,  without  finding 
any  traces  of  the  fugitive,  they  began  to  retreat  to  the 
< 'lining,  and  Kingston  lieard  enough  of  their  remarks, 
on  their  return,  to  learn  that  his  retreat  from  the  woods 
that  niirht  would  he  well  guarded  against,  and  that 
the  next  day  Monson  would  pour  out  all  its  force,  "  to 
hunt  him  to  the  ends  of  the  'arth,  but  what  they 
would  have  him!" 

Under  this  comfortable  assurance,  he  was  little  dis- 
]...-ed  to  take  much  of  a  night's  rest,  where  he  would 
be  sure  to  be  discovered  and  overtaken  in  the  morn- 
]>ut  what  course  to  take,  and  what  measures  to 
adopt,  was  a  diilicnlt  (jnotinn  tor  him  to  answer.  To 
return  to  Monson  opening,  he  well  knew  would  l>e  to 
thn.w  himself  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies;  and  if 
he  remained  in  the  w.M>ds  till  D  -,  he  foresaw 

there  would  he  hut  a  small  chance  ofe00ap«  tV-.m  the 
hundreds  mi  every  side,  who  w«.uld  l»e  on  the  alert  t«» 
take  him.  Xorthof  him  was  the  new  town  of  Klliot- 
ville,  containing  some  fifteen  or  twenty  familii-s,  and  to 
M,  lay  (luilt'onl.  a  well-settled  fanning  t«.wn ; 
hut  he  knew  he  would  l.e  no  more  safe  in  eitlu 
HcttlementH  than  he  would  in  Monson.  Ea.-' 


256  '  w  AY      I  >  ( »  W  N     E  A  6  T  . 

him  lay  an  unsettled  and  unincorporated  wild  town 
ship,  near  the  centre  of  which,  and  some  three  or  four 
miles  to  the  eastward  of  where  he  now  lay,  dwelt  a 
solitary  individual  by  the  name  of  Johnson,  a  singular 
being,  who,  from  some  unknown  cause,  had  forsaken 
social  life,  and  had  lived  a  hermit  in  that  secluded  spot 
for  seven  or  eight  years.  He  had  a  little  opening  in  a 
fine  interval,  on  the  banks  of  Wilson  River,  where 
he  raised  his  corn  and  potatoes,  and  had  constructed 
a  rude  hovel  for  a  dwelling.  Johnson  had  made  his 
appearance  occasionally  at  thd^Blage,  with  a  string 
of  fine  trout,  a  bear-skin,  or  some  other  trophy  of  his 
Nimrod  propensities,  which  he  would  exchange  at  the 
stores  for  "a  little  rum,  and  a  little  tobacco,  and  a 
little  tea,  and  a  jack-knife,  and  a  little  more  rum," 
when  he  would  plunge  into  the  forest  again,  return  to 
his  hermitage,  and  be  seen  no  more  for  months. 

After  casting  his  thoughts  about  in  vain  for  any 
other  refuge,  Kingston  resolved  to  throw  himself  upon 
the  protection  of  Johnson.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as 
he  was  a  little  rested,  and  his  pursuers  were  well  out 
of  hearing,  he  crept  from  his  hiding-place,  and  taking 
his  direction  by  the  moon,  made  the  best  of  his  way 
eastward,  through  the  rough  and  thick  wood.  It  is 
no  easy  matter  to  penetrate  such  a  forest  in  the  day- 


THE     8PECULATU  i:  .  257 

time  ;  and  in  the  night,  nothing  but  extreme  de-p« -ra 
tion  could  drive  a  man  through  it.  1 1< -re  pressing  hi- 
way  through  dark  and  thick  underbrush,  that  con 
stantly  required  both  hands  to  guard  his  eyes;  there 
climbing  over  huge  windfalls,  wading  a  bog,  or  leap 
ing  a  brook;  and  anon  working  his  way,  for  a  quarter 
ot%  a  mile,  through  a  dismal,  tangled  cedar-swamp, 
where  a  thousand  dry  and  pointed  limbs,  shooting  out 
on  every  side,  clear  to  the  very  ground,  tear  his  clothes 
from  his  back,  and  wi^md  him  at  every  step.  Under 
tlu-se  impediments,  ana  in  this  condition,  Kingston 
spent  the  night  in  pressing  on  toward  Johnson's  camp ; 
and  after  a  period  of  extreme  toil  and  suffering,  just 
at  daylight,  he  came  out  to  the  opening.  But  here 
another  harrier  was  before  him.  The  AVilson  River, 
a  wild  and  rapid  stream,  and  now  swollen  by  a  recent 
freehetj  WBB  between  him  and  Johnson's  dwelling,  and 
he  had  no  means  of  crossing.  But  cross  ho  must,  and 
lie  was  reluctant  to  lose  time  in  deliberation.  Ho 
selected  the  spot  that  looked  most  likely  to  admit  of 
fording,  and  waded  into  the  river.  I  To  staggered 
along  from  rock  to  rock,  and  fought  against  the  cur 
rent,  until  he  reached  nearly  the  middle  of  the  -tream, 
when  the  water  deepened  and  took  him  from  hi-  f. 
1 1  o  was  but  an  indifferent  swimmer,  and  the  force  of 


258  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

the  current  carried  him  rapidly  down  the  stream.  At 
last,  however,  after  severe  struggles,  and  not  without 
imminent  peril  of  his  life,  he  made  out  to  reach  the 
hank,  so  much  exhausted,  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
he  could  walk  to  Johnson's  camp.  When  he  reached 
it,  he  found  its  lonely  inmate  yet  asleep.  He  rou 
him,  made  his  case  known  to  him,  and  begged  his 
protection. 

Johnson  was  naturally  benevolent,  and  the  forlorn, 
exhausted,  ragged,  and  altog^^er  wretched  appear 
ance  of  the  fugitive,  at  once  touched  his  heart.  There 
was  now. — 

"No  SPECULATION  in  those  eyes 
Which  he  did  glare  withal," 

but  fear  and  trembling  blanched  his  countenance,  and 
palsied  his  limbs.  Possibly  the  hermit's  benevolence 
might  have  been  quickened  by  a  portion  of  the  con 
tents  of  the  colonel's  purse;  but  be  that  as  it  may,  he 
was  soon  administering  to  the  comfort  of  his  gii< 
In  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  good  lire,  and  the  exhausted 
wanderer  took  off  his  clothes  and  dried  them,  and  tried 
to  fasten  some  of  the  flying  pieces  that  had  been  torn 
loose  by  the  hatchel-teeth  limbs  in  the  cedar-swam] ». 
In  the  meantime  Johnson  had  provided  some  roasted 
potatoes,  and  a  bit  of  fried  bear-meal,  which  ho 


T  11  i;     >  i-  i  •  •  i:  . 

served  up,  with  a  tin  dipper  of  Mi-on^r  tea,  and  K; 
ton  ate  and  drank,  and  was  greatly  ivfiv-hed. 

They  now  set  themselves  canie-tly  t»  work  tod 
niraii-  of  retreat  and  security  airain-t  the  pursuit  of 
the  enraged  Monsonites,  "who,"  lviiiLrM"ii  .-aid,  "he 
wa-  >mv  would  vi>it  the  camp  l>ei«>re  DOOH."  I'nder  a 
]>urt  «'t'  the  ll.H.r,  was  a  *nmll  excavation  in  the  earth, 
which  his  host  called  his  potat»-hok>,  since,  heiii-  near 
the  r\vd  in  winter  t->  keep  his  potatoesTrom 

•/.inir.     Tliis  portioa^f  the  floor  was  now  entirely 
covered  over  with  two  or  three  barrel  r-pail,  a 

bench,  and  sundry  articles  of  iron  and  tin-ware.     It 
was   Johnson's   advice,   that    the   colonel   should 
secreted  in  this  potato-hole.     1 1    WBfl  afraid,  however, 
that  they  would  search  so  close  as  to  discover  hi- 
treat.      Yet  the  only   alterna  led  between  the 

plan  proposed  and  betakinir  hiin-elt'apiin  to  the  wo,,ds 
exp.-M'd  to  toil  and  starvation,  and  the  chance  of  an 
b\  BOme  of  the  hundreds  who  would  be  scouring  the 
wood-  that  day,  eager  as  bloodhounds  for  their  prey. 
Something  must  be  done  immediately,  for  he  was 
e\pe<-:ing  every  hour  to  hear  the  cry  of  his  pursuers; 
and  relying  on  Johnaon'fl  mgennityand  skill  to  send 
them  off  on  another  scent  should  they  come  to  his 
cain,p,  he  concluded  to  retreat  to  the  potato-hole. 


260  'WAY    DOWN    K  A  s  T  . 

Accordingly,  the  superincumbent  articles  were  1m-- 
tily  removed,  a  board  was  taken  up  from  the  floor, 
and  the  gallant  colonel  descended  to  his  new  quart  ITS. 
They  were  small  to  be  sure,  but  under  the  ciivu instan 
ces  very  acceptable.  The  cell  was  barely  deep  enough 
to  receive  him  in  a  sitting"  posture,  with  his  neck  a 
little  bent,  while  under  him  was  a  little  straw,  upon 
which  he  could  stretch  his  limbs  to  rest.  Johnson 
replaced  all  the  articles  with  such  care  that  no  one 
would  have  supposed  they  liad  been  removed  for 
months. 

Tliis  labor  had  just  been  completed,  when  he  heard 
shouts  at  a  distance,  and  beheld  ten  or  a  dozen  people 
rushing  out  of  the  woods,  and  making  toward  his 
camp.  He  was  prepared  for  them ;  and  when  they 
came  in,  they  found  him  seated  quietly  on  his  bench, 
mending  his  clothes. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Colonel  Kingston?" 
inquired  the  foremost  of  the  company  with  panting 
eagerness. 

"  Colonel  Kingston  ?"  asked  Johnson,  looking  up 
with  a  sort  of  vacant,  honest  stare. 

"  Yes — he's  run  for't,"  replied  the  other,  "  and  we 
are  after  him.  The  Grand  Jury  has  indicted  him, 
and  the  Sheriff's  got  a  warrant,  and  all  Monson,  and 


T  H  i:   >ri.<  i  LATom,  L'«;L 

one  half  of  Guilford,  is  out  a  limiting  tor  him.  Last 
night,  just  as  they  were  going  to  take  him,  lie  nm 
into  the  woods  this  way.  HaVt  you  seen  nothin'  of 
him?" 

Johnson  sat  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  and  listened 
with  such  an  inquiring  look  that  any  one  would  have 
sworn  it  was  all  news  to  him.  At  last  he  exclaimed 
with  the  earnestness  inspired  by  a  new  thought, 
"Well,  there!  I'll  bet  that  was  what  my  do^was 
barking  at,  an  hour  '^\  I  heard  him  barking 

as  tierce  as  a  tiger,  about  halt1  a  mile  down  the  river. 
I  was  busy  mending  my  trowsers,  or  I  should  have 
gone  down  to  see  what  he'd  got  track  of." 

The  company  unanimously  agreed  that  it  must 
have  been  Kingston  the  d--g  wa<  after;  and  in  the 
hope  ot'  getting  upon  his  track,  they  hurried  oil'  in 
the  direction  indicated,  leaving  Johnson  as  busily 
engaged  as  if,  like 

"  Brian  O'Linn,  he'd  no  breech*  to  wear," 

until  he  had  I5ni>hed  repairing  his  tattered  inexpressi 
bles. 

The  fugitive  now  hivathcd  freely  again  ;  but  while 
his  pursers  were  talking  with  his  host,  his  respira 
tion  had  hardly  Leen  sullicieiit  to  sustain  life,  and 


262 

"  cold  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  trembling  flesh." 
He  did  not  venture  to  leave  his  retreat  for  two  days  ; 
for  during  that  day  and  most  of  the  next,  the  woods 
were  scoured  from  one  end  of  the  township  to  the 
other,  and  several  parties  successively  visited  the 
camp,  who  were  all  again  successively  despatched  to 
the  woods  by  the  adroitness  of  its  occupant. 

After  two  days  the  pursuers  principally  left  the 
woo^ft  and  contented  themselves  with  posting  senti 
nels  at  short  intervals  on  the  roads  that  surrounded 
the  forest,  and  in  the  neighboring  towns,  hoping  to 
arrest  their  victim,  when  hunger  should  drive  him 
forth  to  some  of  the  settlements.  Kingston  felt  that 
it  was  unsafe  for  him  to  remain  any  longer  under  the 
protection  of  Johnson,  and  he  knew  it  would  be 
exceedingly  difficult  to  make  his  escape  through  any 
<>f  tlie  settlements  of  Maine.  Upon  due  reflection  ho 
concluded  that  the  only  chance  left  for  him  was  to 
endeavor  to  make  his  way  to  Canada. 

He  was  now  a  dozen  or  fifteen  miles  from  the  foot 
•  4'  Moosehead  lake.  There  was  a  foot-path  to  Elliott- 
ville,  where  there  were  a  few  inhahitants.  Through 
this  settlement  he  thought  he  might  venture  to  pass 
in  the  night ;  and  he  could  then  go  a  few  miles  totho 
westward,  and  meet  the  roud  leading  from  Monson  to 


T  H  ]•:    s  r  BO  r  i 

the  lake.  Once  across  or  around  the  i'-t  of  the  ! 
lu-  believed  he  could  make  his  way  into  the  Canada 
n>ad,  and  escape  with  safety.  Uavin^  matured  his 
plan  he  Communicated  it  t<>  Johnson,  who  ai«K-d  it  in 
tlu1  hcst  manner  he  could  l»y  j»r»)vidi]iir  him  with  a 
pack  nf  }»<.tatocs  and  fried  h.-ar-nu-at,  ac<-"in]»anii'd 
with  an  extra  Indian  "johnny-cake,"  a  jaek-knil'e,  and 
a  Hint  and  tinder  t«»r  striking:  lire. 

It  was  late  in  the  ni^ht,  when  all  tiling  WITO  pre 
pared   t'.ir  the  journey,  and    Kimr-ton  l»a-le  an  aiFec- 
tionate   adieu   t<>   his   h.»st,   declaring  that  he   should 
him,  and  adding,  with  inucli  oripnaliry 
of  thought   and   exprvs-ion.   that   k'a   friend   in    Db 
a  friend   indeed."      He   had   nearly  a   mile  t«> 
through  the  woods,  l.efoiv  n-acliin^  the  path  that   led 
tiirMiio-h    the   townshi]>  of  Klliotville  ;    and   when   he 
pa-ed   the    Klliottville   -cttlcnient   the   day  in^an   to 
dawn.      A  stirrinir  yomiLr  man,  who  was  out  at  that 
early  hour,  saw  him  cross  the  road  at  a  distance  and 
r-trike  into  the  woods.     Satisfied  at    once  who  he  \\ 
and  sn-pectiiiiT  his  ol.ject,  he  ha^eiiod  to  rouse  hi- 
two  ..r  three  neiirhhors,  and  t:  •••<!  toward  >fon- 

son  villaire  with  all  the  >p»-ed  hi-  !eLr-  could  irive  him. 
KiniT^ton,  i.hM-rvin^  this  m..\t-ment  from  a  hill-t..]* 
in  the  wo..d-,  wa-  convinced  that  he  should 


-»'' t  '  \V  A  V       ]>o\V  N       !•:  A  ST. 

pursued,  and  redoubled  his  exertions  to  reach  the 
lake. 

When  the  messenger  reached  Monson  and  commu 
nicated  his  intelligence,  the  whole  village  was  mused 
like  an  encamped  army  at  the  battle-call ;  and  in 
twenty  minutes  every  horse  in  the  village  was  mounted 
and  the  riders  were  spurring  with  all  speed  toward  the 
lake,  and  Deacon  Stone  among  the  foremost.  As 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  Moosehead,  the  sun,  which 
was  about  an  hour  high,  was  pouring  a  flood  of  warm 
rays  across  the  calm,  still  waters,  and  some  half  a  mile 
from  land,  they  beheld  a  tall,  slim  man,  alone  in  a 
canoe,  paddling  toward  the  opposite  shore. 

For  a  moment  the  party  stood  speechless,  and  then 
vent  was  given  to  such  oaths  and  execrations  as  habit 
had  made  familiar.  Something  was  even  swelling  in 
Deacon  Stone's  throat,  well-nigh  as  sinful  as  he  had 
uttered  on  a  former  occasion,  but  he  coughed,  and 
checked  it  before  it  found  utterance.  They  looked 
around,  and  ran  on  every  side,  to  see  if  another  boat, 
or  any  other  means  of  crossing  the  lake  could  be 
found  ;  but  all  in  vain.  The  only  skiff  on  that  arm 
of  the  lake  had  been  seized  by  the  colonel  in  his 
flight.  His  pursuers  were  completely  baffled.  Some 
were  for  crossing  the  woods,  and  going  round  the 


THI:     BFBOULATQ 

r--"uth\vest  bay  of  the  lake  over  the  hea-l  9 
tin-  Kenneber  River,  and  so  into  the  great  \vilderne-s 
on  the  \\v-tern  side  of  the  lake.  But  others  said, 
"No;  it's  no  use  ;  if  he  once  gets  over  among  tlu-m 
swamps  and  mountains,  you  ini^lit  :is  well  ln,,k  tor  a 
needle  in  a  hay-mow  I" 

This  sentiment  accorded  with  the  better  judgment 
«-t'  the  party,  and  they  turned  about  and  rode  quietly 
back  to  Monson — Deacon  Stone  consoling  himself  <>n 
the  way  by  occasionally  remarking:  "Well,  it'  the 
heathen  is  driven  out  of  the  land,  thanks  t«>  a  kind 
1'mvidence,  he  hasn't  carried  the  land  with  him  P 


266 


CHAPTEK  XL 

A    DUTCH    WEDDING. 

"  You  can  often  get  over  the  difficulty,  when  you 
can't  get  over  the  river,"  said  my  friend  John  Van 
Ben  Schoten. 

"  Why  don't  you  begin  your  name  with  a  Sam  ?" 
said  I ;  "it  would  give  it  more  fulness  and  roundness ; 
a  more  musical  sound.  I  do  like  a  full,  harmonious 
name,  I  don't  care  what  nation  it  belongs  to.  Only 
see  how  much  better  it  would  sound — Sam  John  Van 
Ben  Schoten — I  would  make  that  little  addition,  if  I 
was  you." 

"Why  that  is  my  boy's  name,"  said  my  friend 
John  Yan  Ben  Schoten.  "  You  Yankees  are  always 
one  generation  ahead  of  us  Hollanders.  Wait  till 
my  boy  grows  up,  and  he'll  be  just  what  you  want. 
"  But  don't  let  us  be  disputing  about  names" 

Our  disputes  were  always  of  tin-  ^ond-natured 
Bort,  and  generally  coniined  to  tlic  relative  advan 
tages  of  Yankee  enterprise  and  Dutch  perseverance. 


A     D  fir  II      WKhhi  267 

"  Don't  let  us  be  disputing  about  names,"  said  lie, 
*•  when  you  ought  to  be  planning  how  to  pay  tliat 
ii"te  to-morrow.  You  say  your  draft  has  come  back 
pmte-ted,  and  you  have  no  other  means  of  raising 
the  money." 

Tliis  Mas  to,,  true;  I  had  been  in  a  perfect  fever  all 
the  morning;  the  return  of  the  draft  was  most  unex 
pected;  those,  of  whom  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
receive  accomodations,  were  out  of  town,  and  the 
note  in  question  would  do  me  much  injury  by  lying 
over.  As  a  last  resort  I  had  applied  to  my  I'riend 
John  Van  Ben  Schoten  for  advice  in  the  matter. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  John  Van  Ben  Schoten,  "  you 
can  often  get  over  the  difficulty,  when  you  can't  get 
over  the  river." 

••  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  how  f  You  can  do  most  any 
thing  if  you  only  know  how." 

••  Well,"  said  lie,  "  go  into  my  counting-room  and 
sit  d<»wn  a  minute,  and  I'll  tell  you  how." 

We-  went  in,  and  took  a  seat  in  the  shadiest  corner, 
near  the  window.  John,  before  sitting  down,  reached 
up  OTW  hi-  ile-k  and  t<><>k  down  his  long  pipe.  IK- 
then  opened  a  little  drawer  and  tilled  hi-  pipr  with 
dry  tobacco,  and  pulling  a  lens  out  of  his  pocket 
he  Stepped  into  the  Min.-hiiie  to  light  it. 


268 

"You  don't  need  that  glass,"  said  I,  "  yon  just  hold 
your  pipe  in  the  sun,  and  if  it  don't  light  in  halt'  a 
minute  without  the  glass,  I'll  engage  to  eat  it." 

"  There  'tis  again,"  said  John  Van  Ben  Schoten, 
"  you  are  always  showing  the  Yankee.  Our  fathers 
always  lit  their  pipes  with  sun  glasses,  and  now  you 
want  to  contrive  some  other  way  to  do  it.  If  I  knew 
I  could  light  it  in  half  the  time  without  the  glass,  still 
I  would  use  the  glass  out  of  respect  to  my  ances 
tors." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  I,  "  this  is  n't  telling  me  how  to 
get  over  the  difficulty." 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  little  steam-engine  a-going," 
-aid  John,  still  holding  the  glass  in  the  sun. 

"  But  have  n't  you  any  loco  foco  matches  ?"  said  I, 
growing  somewhat  impatient. 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  I  never  allow  those  new-fangled 
dangerous  things  to  come  into  my  counting  room." 

"  But  how  do  you  get  a  fire  when  the  sun  don't 
shine  ?"  said  I. 

"  I  use  a  flint  and  steel,"  said  he,  "  the  safest  and 
surest  way  in  the  world." 

At  last,  his  pipe  began  to  burn,  and  John  with  tho 
utmost  complacency  sat  down  in  his  large  arm-chair 
and  began  to  smoke. 


A    i)  r  i  *  ii     \v  LI-  i>  i  N  '.  . 

"  Well,  now,"  said  I,  "  I  suppose  you  an-  ivady  to 
open  your  mind  upon  this  matter,  and  tell  me  if  v«»u 
can  contrive  any  plan  to  help  me  over  this  difficulty." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  John,  "you  can  ..front hues  get 
:•  the  difficulty,  when  you  can't  get  over  the  river. 
v..u  over  know  how  Peter  Van  Horn  got  mar 
ried  ?" 

«  No,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  John,  taking  the  pipe 
from  his  numth  and  putling  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  that 
almost  concealed  his  head  from  my  view. 

"  Oh,  now,  don't  stop  for  any  of  your  long  yarns," 
said  I ;  "  it  is  getting  toward  the  close  of  business 
hours,  and  it's  very  important  that  this  business  of 
mine  should  he  attended  to." 

*  You    Yankee-    an-  alway-   too    impatient,"    -aid 

John  ;  "there's  never  anything  L-t  hy  taking  time  to 

eon-ider  a  matter.     It  is  drivinir  the  stoamhoat    toq 

.  and  trying  to  go  ahead  of  somebody  else,  that 

make-  her  l»ur-t  her  h..ih-r." 

At  that  he  put  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  went  to 
-making  again. 

"Well,  come."  said  I.  "the  KNMMV  you  begin  to 
tell  how  IVter  Van  Horn  got  married,  the  sooner 
you'll  get  through  with  it.'' 


270  'WAY      DOW  N       1  •;  A  s  T  . 

"  I  know  it,"  said  lie,  "  and  if  you  won't  interrupt 
me,  I'll  go  on." 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  a  Dutchman  must  always  have 
his  own  way ;  go  ahead." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  John  Yan  Ben  Schoten,  throw 
ing  himself  back  into  the  chair,  and  leisurely  blowing 
the  smoke  in  a  long,  steady,  quiet  roll  from  his  mouth ; 
"  about  a  hundred  years  ago,  Peter  Yan  Horn  lived 
at  Schenectady,  or  near  where  Schenectady  now  is, 
for  it  was  a  kind  of  wilderness  place  then.  You've 
been  at  Schenectady,  have  n't  you  ?" 

"  No  "  said  I,  "  I  never  have." 

"  Well,  it  is  about  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from 
Albany  ;  you've  been  at  Albany,  of  course." 

"  No,  I  have  n't,"  said  I. 

"  Not  been  at  Albany  ?"  said  John,  staring  at  me 
with  rather  an  incredulous  look  ;  "  then  you  have  n't 
seen  much  of  the  world  yet" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  I,  "perhaps  not  a  great  deal  on 
this  side  of  it ;  though  I  have  seen  something  of  the 
other  side  of  it,  and  a  little  of  both  eends." 

John  laughed,  and  went  on  with  his  story. 

"  Peter  Yan  Horn  lived  near  Schenectady,  on  one 
of  the  little  streams  that  empty  into  the  Mohawk. 
Hi-  tat-In-!-  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  in  that  region  ; 


A     iu  T<   ii     WBDDIVG.  -71 

and  the  <'ld  gentleman  brought  up  a  nice  family,  a 
lino  set  of  hardy,  industrious  fellows;  every  one  of 
them  as  steady  as  a  mill  horse  :  no  wild  oats — they 
were  men  before  they  were  boys.  The  consequence 
was,  they  picked  up  the  money  and  always  had  a 

:t'ortahle  share  of  this  world's  goods. 
"  Well,  Peter,  he  grew  up  to  be  a  smart  young 
man,  and  at  last  he  got  it  into  his  head,  that  he 
wanted  to  be  married.  You  know  how  'tis ;  young 
men  now-a-days  are  apt  to  get  such  notions  into  their 
heads,  and  it  was  just  so  in  old  times.  I  don't  know 
as  Peter  was  to  blame  for  that ;  for  there  was  living 
a  little  ways  up  the  hill,  above  his  father's,  Betsey  Van 
I  leyden,  a  round,  rosy-cheeked,  blue  eyed  girl,  as  neat 
as  a  new  pin,  and  as  smart  as  a  steel-trap.  Every 
time  Peter  saw  her,  his  feelings  became  more  inter- 
1  in  her.  Somehow,  he  could  not  seem  to  keep 
his  mind  off  of  her.  Sometimes,  when  he  was  hoeing 
corn  in  the  field,  the  lirst  tiling  he  would  know,  his 
lather  would  call  nut  to  him.  •  Peter,  what  do  you 
stand  there  leaning  over  your  hoe-handle  for?'  And 
then  he  would  start,  and  color  up  to  the  eyes,  and  go 
to  work.  He  knew  h«-  had  been  thinking  <>f  Betsey 
Van  Heyden,  but  how  long  he  had  been  standing  still 
he  could  n't  tell. 


272  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"At  last  things  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  he 
found  he  couldn't  live  without  Betsey  Van  Hey  den 
no  how  ;  so  he  went  and  popped  the  question  to  her  ; 
and  Betsy  said  she  was  willing  if  mother  was — gals 
in  them  days  were  remarkably  well  brought  up,  in 
comparison  of  what  they  are  now-a-days — so  after  a 
while  Peter  mustered  up  courage  enough  to  go  and 
a<k  the  old  folks,  and  the  old  folks,  after  taking  two 
days  to  consider  of  it,  said  yes ;  for,  why  should  n't 
they  ?  Peter  was  one  of  the  most  industrious  young 
men  in  the  whole  valley  of  the  Mohawk. 

"  And  now  that  the  road  was  all  open  and  plain 
before  him,  Peter  was  for  hurrying  ahead  ;  he  did  n't 
see  any  use  at  all  in  waiting. 

"  Betsey  was  for  putting  it  off  two  months,  till  she 
could  get  another  web  out  of  the  loom ;  but  Peter 
said  no,  he  did  n't  care  a  snap  about  another  web  ; 
they'd  be  married  first  and  make  the  cloth  afterward. 
Betsey  at  last  yielded  the  point ;  she  said  she  did  want 
f"  make  up  a  few  articles  before  they  were  married, 
but  she  supposed  they  might  get  along  without  them. 
So  they  finally  fixed  on  Thursday  of  the  following 
week  for  the  wedding.  The  work  of  preparation  was 
soon  commenced,  and  CUITKM!  out  in  u  liberal  style. 
Everything  requisite  for  a  grand  feast  was  collected, 


A       I>  ITCH       \\    I :  1>  I'  1  N  •-  .  BIO 

cooked,  and  arranged  in  apple-pie  order.     The  guests 

were  all  invited,  and  Parson  Van  lirunt  \\ 

to  be  there  precisely  at  three  o'clock,  in  order  that 

they  might  get  through  the  business,  and  have  supper 

out  of  tlie  way  in  season  for  all  to  get  home 

dark. 

"Tims  far,  up  to  the  evening  before  the  wedding  day, 
everything  looked  fair  and  promising.  Peter  retired 
to  bed  early,  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  good  night's 
rest ;  but  somehow  or  other  he  never  was  so  restless 
in  his  life.  lie  shut  his  eyes  with  all  his  might,  and 
tried  t<>  think  of  sheep  jumping  over  a  wall ;  hut  do 
all  lie  could,  sleep  wouldn't  come.  IVt'oiv  midnight 
the  doors  and  window-  began  to  rattle  with  a  h< 
wind.  Peter  got  up  and  locked  out ;  it  was  dark  and 
cloudy.  Presently  Hashes  of  lightning  were  seen, 
and  heavy  thunder  came  rolling  from  the  clouds  and 
echoing  among  the  hills.  In  half  an  hour  more  a 
heavv  torrent  of  rain  was  beating  upon  the  ho: 
<It  will  be  soon  over,'  thought  Peter,  *  and  the  air 
will  be  beautiful  to-morrow,  as  sweet  as  a  rose  ;  what 
a  line  day  we  shall  have.' 

••  Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  and  the  rail, 
came  down  in  a  flood.     Peter  could  not  sleep  a  wink 

all  niirht.     He  got  up  and  walked  the  floor  till  day- 

Lf 


274 

light,  and  when  he  looked  out  upon  the  roads  and 
the  fields  the  water  was  standing  in  every  hollow  and 
running  down  the  hillsides  in  rivulets.  Nine,  ten, 
and  eleven  o'clock  passed,  and  still  it  rained.  Peter 
had  been  up  to  Mr.  Van  Heyden's  twice  through 
the  rain  to  see  how  affairs  went  on  there ;  the  family 
looked  rather  sad,  but  Betsey  said  she  had  faith  to 
believe  that  it  would  hold  up  before  three  o'clock  ; 
and  sure  enough  about  twelve  o'clock,  while  the 
families  were  at  dinner,  it  did  hold  up,  and  the  clouds 
began  to  clear  away. 

"  About  two  o'clock  the  wedding  guests  began  to 
assemble  at  Mr.  Van  Heyden's,  and  the  faces  of  all 
began  to  grow  shorter  and  brighter.  All  this  time  it 
had  not  entered  Peter's  head,  or  the  heads  of  any  of 
the  rest  of  the  company,  that  there  might  be  any 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  Parson  Yan  Brunt's  coming 
to  their  aid  in  completing  the  marriage  ceremony. 
They  had  all  this  time  forgotten  that  they  were  on 
one  side  of  the  Tomhenick  stream  and  Parson  Yan 
Brunt  on  the  other ;  that  there  was  no  bridge  over 
the  stream,  and  that  it  was  now  so  swollen  by  the 
flood,  and  the  current  was  so  rapid,  that  it  was  almost 
as  much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  attempt  to  cross 
it  at  the  usual  fording-place,  or  swim  it  »»n  ln»r>f!»ack. 


A      DUTCH      W  K  I )  I  >  1  .N  . ,  .  275 

"  At  last,  about  half-past  two  o'clock,  Parson  Van 
Brunt,  true  to  his  promise,  was  seen  riding  down  tin-, 
hill  mi  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  and  approaching 
the  ford. 

"  There  he  is,"  said  old  Mrs.  Van  Heyden,  who 
had  been  upon  the  lookout  for  the  last  half  hour, 
"  there's  the  dear  good  man ;  now  let  us  all  take  our 
seats  and  be  quiet  before  he  comes  in." 

"  While  they  were  still  lingering  at  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  watching  the  parson  as  he  came  slowly 
down  the  hill,  he  reached  the  bank  of  the  river  and 
stopped.  He  sat  upon  liis  horse  some  minutes,  look- 
in  ir  tirst  up  the  stream  and  then  down  the  stream,  and 
tlu'ii  lie  rode  his  horse  a  few  rods  up  and  down  the 
bank,  and  returned  airain  to  the  ford. 

••  •  What  can  he  be  waiting  there  for?'  said  Peter; 
'sure  he  has  seen  the  river  often  enough  before,  that 
lu-  need  n't  stand  there  SO  long  to  look  at  it.' 

"'lean  tell  you  what  the  ditliculty  is,' said  old  Mr. 
Ileyden,  k  the  river  is  so  hi^li  he  can't  iM  across.' 

"The  truth  now  fell  like  a  flash  upon  the  minds  of 
the  whole  company. 

"  'Do  yon  think  so?'  said  Mr.  Van  Horn. 

"  '  I  know  so,'  said  Mr.  Van  Hey  den  ;  '  you  can 
see  from  here  the  water  is  up  the  bank  two  rods 


276 

farther  than  it  commonly  is,  and  must  be  as  much  as 
ten  feet  deep  over  the  ford  just  now.' 

"  <  What  shall  we  do  ?'  said  old  Mrs.  Van  Heyden ; 
'  the  tilings  will  all  be  spoilt  if  we  don't  have  the 
wedding  to-day.' 

"  Betsey  began  to  turn  a  little  pale.  Peter  took  his 
hat  and  started  off  upon  a  quick  walk  toward  the 
river  ;  and  presently  all  the  men  folks  followed  him. 
The  women  folks  waited  a  little  while,  and  seeing 
Parson  Van  Brunt  still  sitting  on  his  horse  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  river  without  any  attempt  to  cross, 
they  all  put  on  their  bonnets  and  followed  the  men. 
When  they  got  to  the  bank,  the  reason  of  the  parson's 
delay  was  as  clear  as  preaching.  The  little  river  was 
swollen  to  a  mighty  torrent,  and  was  rushing  along 
its  banks  with  the  force  and  rapidity  of  a  cataract. 
The  water  had  never  been  so  high  before  since  the 
neighborhood  had  been  settled,  and  it  was  still  rising. 
To  ford  the  river  was  impossible,  and  to  attempt  to 
swim  it  <>n  horseback  was  highly  dangerous. 

" '  What  shall  we  do  ?'  said  Peter,  calling  to  the 
parson  across  the  river. 

"  '  Well,  I  think  you  will  have  to  put  it  off  two  or 
three  days,  till  the  river  goes  down,'  said  Parson 
Van  Brunt. 


A    i)  r  TC  H     \v  MI»  i)  i  L'77 

"'Tell  him  we  can't  put  it  uhV  sai<l  old  Mrs.  Van 
Heyden,  touching  Peter  l>y  the  elbow:  -  I'm-  the  ; 
and  cakes  and  thintirs  will  all  he  >poilt/ 

"'Ask  him  it'  he  don't   think   his  horse  can  swim 
•r,'  said  Betsey  in  a  halt'  whi>per,  landing  the  other 
side  of  Peter. 

"Peter  again  called  to  the  parson;  told  him  what 
a  disappointment  it  would  he  it'  he  did  n't  get  over, 
and  that  it  was  the  general  opinion  his  horse  could 
>wim  over  with  him  it' he  would  only  try.  Parson  Van 
r.runt  was  devoted  to  the  duties  of  his  profession,  and 
ready  to  do  anything,  even  at  the  risk  of  hi-  life,  for 
the  good  of  his  flock.  So  he  reined  up  his  horse 
tightly,  gave  him  the  whip,  and  plunged  into  the 
•:;m.  The  current  was  too  rapid  and  powerful  for 
the  animal;  the  horse  and  rider  were  carried  down 
stream  with  tearful  speed  for  a  about  a  dozen  roils, 
when  they  made  out  to  land  again  on  the  same  side 
from  which  they  started.  All  were  now  sati-tied 
that  the  parson  could  not  <_•  the  river.  The 

experiment  already  made  was  attended  with  such 
fearful  hazard  as  to  preclude  all  thought  of  it-  repeti 
tion. 

"'Oh  dear,  what  shall  we  do?'  said  Mix  Van  lley- 
dcn  :  k  was  there  ever  anything  M»  unlucky? 


278  'WAV     DOWN     EAST. 

"  Betsey  sighed,  and  Peter  bit  his  lips  with  vexation. 
Peter's  mother  all  this  while  had  not  uttered  a  sylla 
ble.  She  was  a  woman  that  never  talked,  but  she  did 
up  a  great  deal  of  deep  thinking.  At  last,  very  much 
to  the  surprise  of  the  whole  company,  she  spoke  out 
loud,  and  said : 

"  l  It  seems  to  me,  if  Parson  Yan  Brunt  can't  get 
over  the  river,  he  might  get  over  the  difficulty  some 
how  or  other.' 

" '  Well,  how  in  the  world  can  he  do  it?'  said  Peter. 

"  '  Why,  you  jest  take  hold  of  Betsey's  hand,'  said 
his  mother,  c  and  stand  up  here,  and  let  the  parson 
marry  you  across  the  river.' 

"This  idea  struck  them  all  very  favorably;  they 
didn't  see  why  it  couldn't  be  done.  Peter  again 
called  to  Parson  Yan  Brunt,  and  stated  to  him  the 
proposition,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  theiv  wa< 
anything  in  the  law  or  in  the  Bible  that  could  go 
against  the  match  if  it  was  done-  in  that  way.  Parson 
Van  Brunt  sat  in  a  dec]*  study  about  five  minutes, 
and  then  said  he  could  n't  see  anything  in  the  way, 
and  told  them  they  might  stand  up  and  take  h«»ld  ,,f 
hands.  "When  they  had  taken  their  proper  positions, 
and  old  Mrs.  Yan  Hoyden  had  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  face  to  hide  the  tears  that  began  to  start  from  her 


A.     DUTCH      W  K  1  >  1 »  I  N  < .  .  -  7 '.  * 

,  tlie  parson  read  over,  in  a  loud  and  solemn  tone, 
tin-  marriage  ceremony,  and  pronounced  them  man 
and  wile. 

"Peter  then  threw  a  couple  of  silver  dollars  across 
the  river,  which  Parson  Van  Brunt  gathered  up  and 
put  in  his  pocket,  and  then  mounted  his  horse  and 
Marted  for  home,  while  the  company  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  river  returned  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Van 
Ileyden  to  enjoy  the  wedding  feast." 

By  this  time  John  Van  Ben  Schoten's  pipe  had 
irnne  out,  and  he  started  to  the  window  again  with 
his  lens  t«>  re-light  it. 

"Well,''  said  I,  "I  understand,  now,  how  Peter 
Van  Horn  got  over  his  difficulty,  but  I'll  he  hanged 
if  I  can  see  any  clearer  h«>\\-  I  am  t«>  get  over  mine." 

"None  so  blind  as  them  that  wmi't  Bee,"  -aid  John, 
turning  t«»  his  disk  and  pulling  out  his  old  rusty  yel 
low  pocket  book.  He  opened  it,  and  counted  out  the 
sum  of  money  which  I  lacked. 

"There,"  said  he,  "go  and  pay  your  note,  and 
remember  you  can  >-  •metimes  get  over  the  difficulty, 
when  you  can't  get  over  the  river." 


280  'WAY    DOWN    E A s T . 


CHAPTEK 


BILLY      SNUB. 


WHEN  the  biographer  has  a  subject  of  unusual 
magnitude  and  importance  to  deal  with,  it  becomes 
him  to  lay  out  his  work  with  circumspection,  and 
preserve  a  careful  method  in  the  arrangement.  He 
must  dig  deep,  and  lay  his  foundation  firmly,  before 
he  attempts  to  rear  his  edifice.  He  must  not  thrust 
his  hero  at  once  and  unceremoniously  in  the  face  of 
his  reader,  standing  alone  and  erect,  like  a  liberty-pole 
on  the  naked  common  of  a  country  meeting-house. 
He  must  keep  him  for  a  while  in  the  background, 
and  with  a  careful  and  skilful  progression  drag  him 
slowly  up  from  the  dark  and  misty  slough  of  antiquity, 
to  the  full  light  of  day.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  com 
mence  with  the  father,  nor  even  with  the  grandfather  ; 
propriety  requires  that  the  ancestral  chain  should  be 
examined  to  the  very  topmost  link. 

Unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  letters,  the  origin 
and  early  history  of  the  Snubs  are  veiled  in  the  dee])- 


r.i  i.  i.  \      I  I  i    i;.  281 

est  obscurity.  The  most  indefatigable  researches 
have  IK -on  sulHcient  to  trace  them  Lack  but  a  few 
generations.  Their  family  name  is  not  found  in  tin- 
list  <>t' tin-  hardy  adventurers  who  came  over  in  the 
Mayflower,  nor  yet  among  the  early  colony  planted 
by  Captain  John  Smith.  But  though  history  retains 
no  record  of  the  preeise  point  of  time  when  they 
migrated  to  the  We>tern  continent,  it  i-  certain  they 
were  among  the  early  settlers  of  the  New  World, 
and  many  respectable  traditions  are  extant  of  their 
ancient  standing  and  influence  in  some  of  the  older 
towns  in  Xe\v  Kngland.  There  is  some  doubt  as  to 
what  nation  may  rightfully  claim  the  honor  of  sup- 
plvinir  the  blo..d  that  tlows  in  their  veins,  and  it  is 
probable  the  question  at  this  late  day  can  never  be 
fled  with  entire'  >atisfaetion.  Though  the  claim- 
of  Knglund,  France,  and  (iermany,  might  each  and 
all  be  urged  with  so  much  force  as  to  incline  the  his 
torian  to  believe  that  their  blond  is  of  mixed  nrigin, 
yet  the  prevailing  testimony  ought  to  be  con>idrivd 
sutlicient  to  establish  the  point  thai  Joiffl  Hull  is  the 
father  of  the  Snub  family:  a  conclusion  which 
deiiYei  BO  -mall  support  from  the  general  pugna^ 
nf  their  character.  It  is  much  {^  be  lamented  that 
the  ancient  hi.-tm-y  Q|  tlii>  ancient  family  is  lost 


282 

to  the  world  ;  but,  alas !  they  had  no  poet,  no  histo 
rian. 

The  ancestors  of  Billy  Snub  can  be  traced  in  a 
direct  line  only  to  the  fourth  generation.  The  great 
grandfather  was  a  lawyer  of  thrift  and  respectability  ; 
a  man  of  talents  and  influence ;  and  tradition  says,  if 
he  was  not  a  younger  son,  he  was  the  nephew  of  a 
younger  son  of  an  English  earl.  It  cannot,  there 
fore,  with  any  propriety,  be  thrown  in  the  face  of  the 
Snubs,  that 

"  Their  ancient  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood." 

But  this  Lawyer  Snub,  whose  first  name  was  William, 
had  not  the  faculty  or  the  talents  to  bring  up  his 
children  to  maintain  the  standing  and  dignity  of  their 
father.  His  son  William  was  nothing  more  than  a 
plain,  respectable  country  farmer,  who  planted  his 
potatoes,  and  hoed  his  corn,  and  mowed  his  hay,  and 
milked  his  cows  very  much  as  other  farmers  do,  with 
out  ever  doing  anything  to  become  distinguished  in 
the  history  of  his  times.  He  also  was  destined  to  see 
his  posterity  still  in  the  descendant,  for  his  son  Wil 
liam  was  a  village  shoemaker,  who  sat  on  his  bench, 
and  drew  his  thread,  and  hammered  his  lapstone 


r,  ii.i.v    SNUB.  283 

from  morning  till  night,  the  year  in  and  year  out, 
with  the  occasional  variation  of  whittling  while 
paring  off  a  shoe,  and  singing  a  song  of  an  evening 
to  the  loungers  in  his  shop.  The  tendency  in  the 
Snub  family,  however,  was  still  downwards ;  even 
the  shoemaker  was  not  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  for 
his  son  was  Billy  Snub  the  newsboy.  The  direct 
family  line,  as  far  back  as  authentic  history  goes, 
running  thus  : 

First  generation,  William  Snub,  Esquire. 

Second  generation,  Mr.  William  Snub,  the  farmer. 

Third  generation,  Bill  Snub,  the  shoemaker. 

Fourth  generation,  Billy  Snub,  the  newsboy. 

There  is  a  tide  in  families,  as  well  as  "in  the  affairs 
of  men."  They  rise  and  fall,  though  not  as  regularly, 
yet  as  surely  as  the  spring  and  neap  tides  of  the 
ocean.  And  Hilly  Snub,  after  kicking  and  flounder 
ing  about  upon  the  flats  at  low  water,  lias  at  last 
caught  the  flood,  and  there  is  no  knowing  to  what 
height  of  fortune  he  may  yet  l>e  carried.  \\\< 
terity  will  undoubtedly  bo  in  the  ascendant,  and  it 
may  not  be  too  much  to  expect  that  in  a  few  genera 
tions  ahead,  we  shall  have  hi-  Excellency,  William 
Snub,  Governor,  &c.,  and  perhaps  William  Snub,  tin- 
eighteenth  President  of  the  I'nited  States.  But  the 


284  '  w  A  Y    now  x     i;  AST. 

regular  chain  of  history  must  not  be  anticipated ;  and 
in  order  to  bring  Billy  fairly  and  with  sufficient  clear 
ness  before  the  public,  it  is  necessary  to  dwell  for  a 
few  moments  upon  the  history  of  Bill  Snub,  the  shoe 
maker,  and  Sally  Snub,  his  wife. 

For  a  few  years  Bill  Snub  was  the  leading  shoe 
maker  in  a  quiet  New  England  village.  Indeed,  he 
took  the  lead  from  necessity,  for  he  had  no  competitor ; 
the  field  was  all  his  own,  and  being  allowed  to  have 
his  own  way,  and  fix  his  own  prices,  he  managed  to 
get  a  comfortable  living.  Being  well  to  do  in  the 
world,  and  much  given  to  whistling  and  singing,  his 
shop  gradually  became  the  favorite  resort  of  all  the 
idlers  in  the  village.  Bill's  importance  was  magnified 
in  his  own  eyes  by  this  gathering  around  him  almost 
every  evening,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rainy  afternoons. 
Unconsciously  to  himself  he  encouraged  this  lounging 
habit  of  his  neighbors  by  administering  to  their  little 
idle  comforts.  In  one  corner  of  his  shop  was  a  broken 
chair  for  an  extra  seat,  in  another  a  square  block  of 
timber  left  from  the  frame  of  the  new  school-house, 
and  in  still  another  corner  was  a  stout  side  of  sole 
leather,  rolled  up  and  snugly  tied,  which  answered 
very  well  for  a  seat  for  three.  A  half-peck  of  apples, 
and  a  mug  or  two  of  cider,  always  at  Bill's  expense, 


HILLY      8N  UB.  285 

frequently  added  to  the  allurements  ..!'  the  place,  and 
Bill's  songs,  and  Hill's  jnkes,  n<>  matter  how  little 
imiMc  «>r  wit  they  contained,  were  always  applauded. 

Tins  state  of  things  silently,  but  gradually,  ma-i 
encroachments  upon  Bill's  habits  of  industry.  His 
eu-tomers  were  put  off  from  day  to  day,  and  when 
Saturday  night  came,  a  bushel  basket  full  of  boots 
and  shoes  remained  in  his  shop  waiting  repairs,  to  say 
untliing  of  Sunday  new  ones  that  had  been  promised, 
but  not  touched.  Many  of  his  customers  had  to  stay 
at  home  on  the  Sabbath,  or  go  to  meeting  barefoot. 
The  result  of  all  this  was,  that  an  interloper  soon 
came  into  the  place,  and  opened  a  shop  directly 
opposite  to  that  of  Bill.  The  way  was  already  open 
for  him  for  a  good  run  of  business.  Bill's  customers, 
exasperated  at  their  numerous  disappointments,  dis 
carded  him  at  once,  and  flocked  to  the  new  comer. 
In  a  week's  time,  Bill  had  nothing  to  do.  lie  might 
-een  standing  in  his  shop  door,  or  with  his  head 
out  of  the  window,  hour  after  hour,  watching  his  old 
customers  as  they  entered  the  shop  of  his  rival.  lie 
would  go  home  to  his  meals  in  ill-humor,  and  scold 
his  wife  for  his  bad  luck.  And  if  little  Billy,  then 
six  years  old,  came  mund  him  with  his  accustom cd 
prattle  and  play,  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  silenced 


286 

with  a  smart  box  on  the  ear.  Things  grew  worse  and 
worse  with  him,  and  in  a  few  months  want  was  not 
only  staring  him  in  the  face,  but  had  actually  seized 
him  with  such  a  firm  gripe  as  to  bring  him  to  a  full 
stand.  Something  must  be  done  ;  Bill  was  uncom 
fortable.  Whistling  or  singing  to  the  bare  walls  of 
his  shop,  produced  an  echo  that  chilled  and  annoyed 
him  exceedingly.  Food  and  clothing  began  to  be 
among  the  missing,  and  he  soon  discovered  that  walk 
ing  the  streets  did  but  little  towards  replenishing  his 
wardrobe ;  nor  would  scolding  or  even  beating  his 
wife  supply  his  table. 

At  last,  throwing  the  whole  blame  upon  the  place 
and  its  people  where  he  lived,  he  resolved  at  once  to 
pull  up  stakes  and  be  off. 

"  And  where  are  you  going,  Bill  ?"  said  his  wife, 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  as  she  saw  her  hus 
band  commence  the  work  of  packing  up. 

"  It's  noiie  of  your  business.  Sail,'"  said  the  husband 
gruffly.  MBut  I'm  going  whejre  there's  wi-rk  en.rn.rh 
for  all  creation;  where  there's  more  folks  to  mend 
shoes  for  than  you  can  shake  u  stick  at/1 

"  Well,  ^here  is  it  Bill?  (^o  tell'us;"  said  Sally  in 
an  anxious  tone.  "If  it  is  only  where  we  can  get  vic 
tuals  to  eat,  and  clothes  to  wear,  I  shall  be  thankful.1' 


V 


H  I  I,  L  V       >  N  I '  i:  .  287 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Dill,  "  I'm  going  to  the  biggest 
city  in  the  United  States,  where  there's  work  enough 
all  weatl. 

"  AVell,  that's  Boston,"  said  Sally. 

"  No,  'taint  Boston,"  said  Bill ;  "it's  a  place  as  big 
as  four  Bostons.  It's  !New  York;  I'm  going  right 
intu  the  middle  of  New  York;  so  pack  up  your  duds 
about  the  (quickest ;  for  I  ain't  going  to  stop  for 
nobody." 

And  sure  enough,  a  few  mornings  after  this,  among 
the  deck  passengers  of  one  of  the  >teamers  that  arrive.  I 
at  New  Y..>rk,  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Bill  Snub, 
the  shoemaker,  with  his  \vit'e  Sally  and  his  son  Billy. 
The  group  landed,  and  staivd  at  every  object  they 
met,  with  a  wild  and  wondering  expression,  that 
seemed  to  indicate  pretty  clearly  that  they  were  n<«t 
accuM«Miied  to  nights  and  scene-  like  th»>e  an-und 
them.  Indeed,  they  had  never  hel'oiv  1  it-en  in  a  k, 
t«'\vn,  ami  hardly  out  of  their  <|iiiet  C"imtry  vill; 

h  I'Mi-i-  a  bundle,  containing  the  whole  amount  of 
their  ^ouds  and  chattels,  which   1  L reduced 

a  few  articles  of   w.  :-parel,  a  l.-.\  «»r  two  of 

eatables,  which  they  had  taken  for  their  jounu-y.  ai.d 
a  few  tools  of  his  trade,  which   Hill  had  had  the  lofe- 
:  to|,re>er\e   in   order  to  he^in   the  world  ui 


288 

Bewildered  by  the  noise  and  bustle,  and  crowds  of 
people  on  every  side,  they  knew  not  which  way  to 
turn  or  what  to  do.  They  knew  not  a  person  nor  a 
street  in  the  city,  and  had  no  very  definite  object  in 
view.  Instinctively  following  the  principal  current 
of  passengers  that  landed  from  the  boat,  they  soon 
found  themselves  in  Broadway.  Here,  as  a  small  stream 
blends  with  a  large  one  into  which  it  flows,  their  com 
pany  was  presently  merged  and  lost  in  the  general 
throng  of  that  great  thoroughfare.  They  gradually 
lost  sight  of  the  familiar  faces  they  had  seen  on  board 
the  boat,  and  when  the  last  one  disappeared,  and 
they  could  no  longer  discern  in  the  vast  multitude  hur 
rying  to  and  fro,  and  down  the  street,  a  single  indivi 
dual  they  had  ever  seen  before,  a  sense  of  solitude 
and  home-sickness  came  over  them,  that  was  most 
overpowering.  They  stopped  short  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  Bill  looked  in  his  wife's  face,  and  his  wife  looked 
in  his,  and  little  Billy  stood  between  them,  and  looked 
up  in  the  faces  of  both. 

'•AVhat  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  Sally. 

"Going  to  do?"  said  Bill ;  "I'm  going  to  hire  out; 
or  else  hire  a  shop  and  work  on  my  own  hook." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  gentleman  brushed  past  his 
,  and  Bill  hailed  him. 


BILLY     -NUB. 

••  I  say,  mister,  y.>u  don't  know  of  nobody  that 
wants  to  hire  a  shoemaker,  do  ye?" 

The  gentleman  turned  and  glanced  at  him  a 
moment,  and  then  hurried  on  without  saying  a  word. 

"  I  should  think  ho  might  have  manners  enough  to 
answer  a  civil  <jue$tion,"  muttered  Bill  to  himself,  as 
he  shouldered  his  bag  and  moved  on  up  the  street. 
Presently  they  passed  a  large  shoe  store. 

"  Ah,  here's  the  place  I"  said  Bill ;  "  we've  found 
it  at  last.  O,  Sail,  did  you  ever  see  such  an  allfired 
sight  of  shoes?  Lay  down  your  bundle,  and  stop 
lu-re  to  the  do.«r.  while  I  go  in  and  make  a  bargain 
t'.-r  work.  So  in  Bill  went,  and  addressed  himself  to 
one  of  the  clerks. 

"  I  say,  mister,  you've  got  sich  an  everlastin'  lot  of 
shoes  here,  I  guess  may  be  you'd  like  to  hire  a  go,,d 
shoemaker;  and  if  you  do,  I'm  the  boy  for  you." 

The  clerk  laughed,  and  told  him  he  must  ask  the 
boss  about  that. 

"Ask  the  whutr  said  Hill. 

"  Ask  the  boss,"  said  the  clerk,  who  began  to  relish 
the  conversation. 

"I  shan't  do  no  sich  thing,"  said  Bill ;  "  I  didn't 
no  to  New  York  to  talk  with  bossy-calves  nor  pigs ; 

and  if  you  are  a  calf  I  don't  want  any  more  to  say  to 

II 


290  WAY      DOWN      EAST. 

you  ;  but  if  you  want  to  hire  a  good  shoemaker,  I  tell 
you  Fin  the  chap  lor  you."  Here  the  proprietor  of 
the  store,  seeing  the  clerks  gathering  round  Bill,  to 
the  neglect  of  their  customers,  came  forward  and  told 
him  he  did  not  wish  to  hire  any  workmen,  and  he 
had  better  go  along. 

"  But  I'll  work  cheap,"  said  Bill,  "  and  I'm  a  first- 
rate  work  num.  Here's  a  pair  of  shoes  on  my  feet 
I've  wore  for  four  months,  and  they  han't  ripped  a 
stitch  yet." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  hire,"  said  the  man  of  the 
store,  with  some  impatience  ;  "  so  you  had  better  go 
along." 

"  But  maybe  we  can  make  a  bargain,"  said  Bill ; 
"  I  tell  ye,  I'll  work  cheap." 

"  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  to  hire,"  said  the  man  ; 
"  so  go  out  of  the  store." 

"  You  need  n't  be  so  touchy,"  said  Bill ;  "  I  guess 
I've  seen  as  good  folks  as  you  are,  before  to-day. 
Come  now,  what'll  you  give  me  a  month  f ' 

"  I'll  give  you  what  you  won't  want,"  said  the  man, 
"  if  you  are  not  out  of  this  store  in  one  minute."  As 
he  said  this,  he  approached  Bill  with  such  a  menacing 
appearance,  that  the  shoemaker  thought  it  time  to 
retreat,  and  hasu-m-d  nut  «»f  tho  door.  ^  -'n'd 


»  I  I.  I.  \      >  .s  r  i;  .  -201 

the  sidewalk,  he  timu'<l  round  ami  li;iik'<l  the  man  of 
tin-  store  again. 

"I  say,  mister,  liav  n't  YOU  iM  a  shoemaki-rV  >h..j. 
you'll  lot  tome?" 

Tin'  man  said  ho  had  a  good  room  for  that  [Mir 

u  \\\-ll,  what  do  you  a>k  a  year  tor  it  I"  -aid  Mill. 

"Three  hundred  dollars,  with  good  security,"  re 
plied  the  shopman. 

"Three  hundred  dollars!  My  gracious!  Come 
now,  none  of  your  jokes.  Tell  us  how  much  you  ask 
for  it,  'cause  I  want  to  hire." 

"I  tell  YOU  I  ask  three  hundred  dollars,"  said  the 
man;  "hut  it's  of  no  use  for  you  to  talk  ahout  it; 
you  can't  irive  the  security." 

"Oh,  you  go  to  grass,"  >aid    P.ill  ;  "I  don't  want 

none  of   your  joke.-.      I've    hired    U   good    a   -hop  as 

ever   a  man   waxed   a  thread    in,  for   fifteen  dollars  a 

;•  ;  and  if  you  are  a  mind  to  let  me  ha\v  yourn  for 

the  same,  I'll  LT«»  and  look  at  it." 

Tin-  man  laughed  in  hi-  face,  and  turned  away  to 
wait  upon  his  c  ;  and  a  little  wairirish  1 

who  had  l»een   standing   hy  and   listenin.ir   to  ti 
\cr-ation,  placed  his  tinier  airain-t  his  no<e,  an«l  l.»ok- 
iiiir  up  askance  at  Hill,  exclaimed.  M  Ain't  3 

Poor   Bill    U'lran   to   think   he   had   «rot    among  a 


292 

strange  set  of  people,  and,  shouldering  his  bag,  he 
marched  up  Broadway  with  his  wife  and  Billy  at  his 
la-els,  till  he  came  to  the  Astor  House.  Here  he 
made  a  halt,  for  it  looked  to  him  like  a  sort  of  place 
for  head-quarters.  The  building  was  so  imposing  in 
its  appearance,  and  so  many  people  were  going  in 
and  coming  out,  and  everything  around  was  so  brisk 
and  busy,  he  thought  surely  it  must  be  just  the  place 
to  look  for  business.  So  laying  down  their  baggage, 
he  and  Sally  and  Billy  quietly  took  a  seat  on  the 
broad  granite  steps.  He  soon  began  to  ply  his 
inquiries  to  all  sorts  of  people,  asking  if  they  could 
tell  him  of  anybody  that  wanted  to  hire  a  shoemaker, 
or  that  had  a  shoemaker's  shop  to  let.  Most  of  them 
would  hurry  by  him  without  any  further  notice  than 
a  hasty  glance;  others  would  laugh,  and  some  would 
stop,  and  ask  a  few  questions,  or  crack  a  few  heart hv-s 
jokes,  and  then  turn  away.  After  a  while  a  throng 
of  boys  had  gathered  around  him,  and  by  various 
annoyances  rendered  his  position  so  uncomfortable, 
that  he  was  glad  to  escape,  and  shouldering  hi- 
gage,  he  and  his  group  wandered  on  with  heavy 
hearts  up  the  street. 

Most  of  the  day  passed  in  this  way  without  any 
profitable  result,  and  as  night  approached  the\ 


•:  I  i.  I.  \      |  N 

weary  ami  desponding.  Tliey  had  no  money  left  to 
provide  thrm-elve-  with  a  lunne  for  the  night,  though 
they  had  provision  enough  I'm-  a  meal  or  two  remain 
ing  in  their  walK  — .  I1,;!!  had  found  it  utterly  impos- 
Mble  to  make  any  impression  upon  any  one  he  had 
met  in  the  city,  except  so  far  as  to  be  laughed  at. 
He  could  get  no  one's  ear  to  listen  to  his  story,  and 
he  could  see  no  prospect  of  employment.  Sally  had 
••nil  times  suggested  that  this  great  road  which 
they  had  been  up  and  down  so  much — for  they  had 
been  almost  the  whole  length  of  Broadway  two  or 
three  times — was  not  exactly  the  best  road  lor  them 
to  go  in,  and  she  did  n't  think  but  what  they  might  be 
likely  to  do  better  to  go  into  one  of  the  smaller  roads, 
where  the  folks  didn't  look  so  grand.  And,  though 
Bill  had  been  of  different  opinion  through  the  day, 
he  now  began  to  think  that  Sally  might  be  ri. 
Looking  down  one  of  the  cross  street  i  that  seemed  to 
end  into  a  sort  of  valley,  quite  a  dillerent  country 
appeared  t«»  open  to  them.  They  could  see  old 
di-eayed-lonkiMg  houses,  with  broken  windows  and 
dirty  >idewalks;  they  c«.uld  -ee  half-naked  child, 
running  about  and  {.laying  in  t!  .;dd 

see   l^reheaded   women   and  !    men    \ 

about  the  doors,  and  numerous  >wino  rooting  in  the 


294 

gutters.  The  prospect  was  too  inviting  to  be  resisted. 
They  felt  at  once  that  there  they  could  rind  sympathy, 
and  hastened  down  the  street.  Arriving  in  the  midst 
of  this  paradise,  they  deliberately  laid  down  their 
luggage  on  the  sidewalk,  and  seating  tlieni>elves  on 
the  steps  of  an  old  wooden  house,  felt  as  if  they  had 
at  last  found  a  place  of  rest.  They  opened  their  bun 
dles  and  began  to  partake  of  a  little  food.  Heads 
were  out  of  a  hundred  windows  in  the  neighborhood 
gazing  at  them.  Children  stopped  short  in  the  midst 
of  their  running,  and  stood  around  them  ;  and  lei 
surely,  one  after  another,  a  stout  woman  or  a  sturdy 
loafer  came  nigh  and  entered  into  conversation.  As 
Bill  related  his  simple  story,  a  universal  sympathy 
was  at  once  awakened  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  hearers. 
They  all  declared  he  should  have  a  shop  in  the  neigh 
borhood  and  they  would  give  him  their  patronage. 

Patrick  O'Flannegan,  who  lived  in  the  basement  of 
the  old  house  on  whose  steps  they  were  seated,  at 
once  invited  them  to  partake  of  the  hospitalities  of 
his  mansion,  saying  he  had  but  nine  in  his  family,  and 
his  room  was  large,  and  they  should  be  welcome  to 
occupy  a  corner  of  it  till  they  could  find  a  better  home. 
Of  course  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  th*£T<>up 
followed  Patrick  down  the  steep  dirty  steps  that  led 


r,  i  i.  i .  -, 


to  liU  damp  apartment.  The  tops  of  the  b'W  windows 
were  al><>ut  upon  a  level  with  the  >idew:dk,  bring] 
almost  the  entire  apartment  below  the  surface  of  the 
ground.  The  dim  light  that  struggled  down  through 
the  little  boxed-up  'lusty  windows,  showed  a  straw- 
bed  in  two  several  corners  of  the  room,  three  or  four 
rickety  ch aii*s,  a  rough  bench,  small  tab;  ttle, 

tVving-pan,  and  several  other  articles  of  household 
comforts. 

••  You   can  lay  your  things  in   that   corner,"  said 
Patrick,  pointing  to   a   vacant  corner  of  the  room, 
"ami  we'll  so.  .11  get  up  some  good  straw  for  you  to 
j>  on."     In  short,  Bill   and    his    family   at    once 
domesticated   in   this  subterranean  tenement, 
proved  to  be  not  merely  a  tenij  ^idence, 

but  their  home  for  years.     The  limits  of  thn  hi- 
will    not   allow  space  to  follow  the    fortunes  of    Hill 
through  three  or  four  of  the  first  years  of  hi-  city  life. 
It  mu>t  be  sufficient -to  state  generally,  that  though  he 
found  kindness  and  sympathy  in  his  iirv,-  BflBOcL 
he  tbund  little  else  that  was  beneficial.     The  atmos 
phere  ar«>und   him  w,:s  imt  favorable  to  industry,  and 
his  habits  in  that    re-pect   never  improved,  but  rather 
grew  worse.      II U  neighbors  did   not  work,  and   why 

• 

should   he?      His  neighbors  were   fond  of  likening  to 


296  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

his  songs,  and  why  should  he  not  sing  to  them?  His 
neighbors  drank  beer,  and  porter,  and  sling,  and  gin 
toddy,  and  Bill  needed  but  little  coaxing  to  drink 
with  them.  And  he  did  drink  with  them,  moderately 
at  first,  but  deeper  and  oftener  from  month  to  month, 
and  in  three  years'  time  he  became  a  perfect  sot. 

The  schooling  that  little  Bill  received  during  these 
three  years  was  eminently  calculated  to  fit  him  for 
his  future  profession.   He  had  slept  on  the  floor,  lying 
down  late  and  rising  up  early,  till  his  frame  was  as 
hardy  and  elastic  as  that  of  a  young  panther.     He 
had  been  flogged  so  much  by  a  drunken  father,  and 
had  his  ears  boxed  so  often  by  a  fretted  and  despond 
ing  mother,  that  he  had  lost  all  fear  of  their  blows, 
and  even  felt  a  sort  of  uneasiness,  as  though  matters 
were  not  all  right,  if  by  any  chance  the  day  passed 
by  without  receiving  them.     He  had  lived  on  such 
poor  diet,  and  so  little  of  it,  that  potato-skins  had  a 
fine  relish,  and  a  crust  of  bread  was  a  luxury.     lie 
had  battled  with  boys  in  the  street  till  he  had  become 
such  an  adept  at  fisticuffs,  that  boys  of  nearly  twice 
his  size  stood  in  fear  of  him.     And  he  had  so  of  ton 
been  harshly  driven  from  the  doors  of  the  wealthy, 
where  he  had  been  sent  to  beg  cold  victuals,  that  he 
had  come  to  regard  mankind  in  general  as  a  set  of 


i;  I  LLT      SNUB.  L",«7 

ferocious  animals,  against  whose  fangs  it  was  neces 
sary  to  be  constantly  on  his  guard.  In  short,  Billy 
had  been  beaten  about  from  post  to  pillar,  and  pillar 
to  post  so  much,  and  had  rubbed  his  head  against  so 
many  sorts  of  people,  that  it  had  become  pretty  well 
filled  with  ideas  of  the  hardest  kind. 

When  Billy  was  about  ten  years  old,  he  came  run 
ning  in  one  clay  in  great  glee,  with  a  sixpence  in  his 
hand,  which  he  had  found  in  the  street.  As  soon  as 
his  father  heard  the  announcement  of  it,  he  started 
up,  and  took  down  a  junk  bottle  from  a  little  shelf 
against  the  wall,  and  told  Billy  to  take  the  sixpence, 
and  go  to  the  grocer's  on  the  corner,  and  get  the 
\\orth  of  it  in  rum.  Sally  begged  that  he  would  not 
send  for  rum,  but  let  little  Billy  go  to  the  baker's  and 
get  a  loaf  of  bread,  for  she  had  not  had  a  mouthful  of 
anything  l<>  eat  for  the  day,  and  it  was  then  noon. 
But  Bill  insisted  upon  having  the  nun,  and  told  Billy 
(O  go  along  and  get  it,  and  be  quick  about  it,  or  he 
would  give  him  such  a  licking  as  he  had  not  had  for 
months.  Billy  took  the  bottle,  and  started;  but 
81  he  left  the  door,  his  cheek  reddened,  and  his  lip 
curled  with  an  expression  of  determination  which  it 
had  not  been  accustomed  to  wear.  lie  walked  down 

the  street,  thinking  of  the  conse»iuemvs  that  would 

18* 


298  WAY      DOWN      KA8T. 

result  from  carrying  home  a  bottle  of  rum.  His 
father  would  be  drunk  all  the  afternoon,  and  through 
the  night.  His  mother  and  himself  would  have  to  go 
without  food,  probably  be  abused  and  beaten,  and 
when  night  came,  would  lind  no  repose. 

He  arrived  at  the  grocer's,  but  he  could  not  go  in. 
He  passed  on  a  little  farther,  in  anxious,  deep  thought. 
At  last  he  stopped  suddenly,  lifted  the  bottle  above 
his  head,  and  then  dashed  it  upon  the  pavement  with 
all  his  might,  breaking  it  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"  There,"  said  Billy  to  himself,  "  I'll  never  carry 
any  more  rum  home  as  long  as  I  live.  But  I  s'pose 
father  '11  lick  me  half  to  death  ;  but  I  don't  care  if 
he  does,  I'll  never  carry  any  more  rum  home  as  long 
as  I  live." 

He  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye,  and  bit  his  lij 
he  stood  looking  at  the  fragments  of  the  bottle  a 
moment,  and  then  passed  on  farther  down  the  street. 
But  now  the  question  of  what  he  should  do,  came 
home  to  him  with  painful  force.     If  he  returned  back 
to  the  house,  and  encountered  his  enraged  father,  he 
was  sure  to  be  half  killed.     He  wandered  on,  uncon- 
cious  where  he  went,  till  he  reached  the  Park.     I  h-iv 
hornet  a  newsboy  crying  papers,  with  giv: 
ness  and  tremendous  force  of  lungs.     Uilly  watched 


I    !;. 

him  for  the  space  of  ten  minutes,  and  saw  him  sell 
half-a-d,>/eii  papers.  They  cuntaiiu'<l  important  n 
by  a  foreign  arrival,  and  people  seemed  i -aircr  to  get 
hold  of  them.  A  new  idea  flashed  across  Lilly's 
mind.  AVhy  could  not  he  sell  newspapers,  and  get 
money,  as  well  as  that  hoy!  \\\<  resolution  w;. 
once  formed,  with  almost  the  strength  and  iirmnr- 
of  manhood.  It  required  capital,  to  be  sure,  to  start 
with,  'hut  luckily  he  had  the  capital  in  his  pocket. 
The  rum  hottle  had  heen  broken,  and  he  still  retained 
the  sixpence.  He  hastened  immediately  t<>  the 
publishing  office  of  the  paper  he  had  just  seen  sold. 
AVhen  he  arrived  there,  he  found  quite  a  crowd  of 
newsboys  pressing  up  to  the  counter,  and  clamor*  >u< 
for  papers;  for  the  publisher  could  not  supply  them 

enough    to  meet   the   demand.      Hilly  edged   }\\< 
way  in  among  them,  and  en-:  t<>  approach  the 

(•••miter.      "Hut  he  was  suddenly  pushed  back   by  two 

.ive  boys  at  once,  who  exclaimed,     "  What   u 
comer  is  this  ?     Here's  boys  enough  here  n..w,  so  you 

ther  <un_Lr  out   k*Go  home,  you  rairbair,  jroUff 
mr.ther  d'-n't  kimw  you'i'c  ..ut  !" 

At  this,  one  of  the  hoys  looked  round  that  ha; 
ed  to  know  Billy,  and  he  cried  out,  "Ah,  Hilly  Snub, 


300 

clear  out  of  this  ;  here's  no  place  for  you  !  No  boys 
comes  to  this  office  that  don't  wear  no  hats  and  shoes?" 

Billy  felt  the  force  of  this  argument,  for  he  was  bare 
headed  and  barefooted,  besides  being  sadly  out  at 
knees  and  elbows  ;  and  looking  around,  he  perceived 
that  all  the  boys  in  the  room  had  something  on  their 
heads,  and  something  on  their  feet.  He  began  to  feel 
as  though  he  had  perhaps  got  among  the  aristocracy 
of  the  newsboys,  and  shrank  back  a  little,  and  stood 
in  a  corner  of  the  room.  The  boys,  however,  were 
not  disposed  to  let  him  rest  in  peace  there.  Several 
of  them  gathered  around  him,  taunting  him  with 
jokes  and  jeers,  and  began  to  crowd  against  him  to 
hustle  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  Now  take  care,"  said  Billy,  "  for  I  won't  stand 
that  from  none  of  you." 

"  You  won't,  will  you  ?"  said  the  boys,  bursting  out 
into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  and  one  of  them  took  Billy 
by  the  nose,  and  attempted  to  pull  him  to  the  door. 
Billy  sprang  like  a  young  catamount ;  and  although 
he  was  considerably  smaller  and  younger  than  his 
assailant,  he  gave  him  such  a  well-directed  blow  upon 
the  chest  that  he  laid  him  sprawling  upon  the  floor. 
Upon  this,  two  or  three  more  came  at  him  with  givat 
fury;  but  Billy's  sleight  of  hand  was  exhibited  with 


BILLY      BJ)  r  B.  301 

so  much  force  and  skill,  that  he  made  his  way  through 
them,  and  kept  his  coast  clear;  and  when  a  stronger 
reinforcement  was  about  to  attack  him,  the  publisher 
interfered,  and  ordered  them  to  let  that  boy  alone. 
Still  they  were  disposed  to  continue  their  persecu 
tions,  till  the  publisher  took  up  a  long  whip,  and 
cracked  it  over  their  heads,  and  told  them  he  would 
horsewhip  the  first  one  that  dared  to  meddle  with 
him.  And  in  order  to  make  amends  to  Billy  for  the 
ill-treatment  he  had  received,  he  said  he  should  now 
be  served  with  papers  before  any  of  the  rest.  He 
accordingly  took  Billy's  six  cents,  and  handed  him 
three  papers,  and  told  him  to  sell  them  at  three  cents 
apiece. 

Billy  eagerly  grasped  his  papers,  and  ran  into  the 
street.  lie  had  not  been  gone  more  than  fifteen 
minnta,  before  he  returned  with  nine  cents,  which 
he  had  received  for  the  papers,  and  one  more,  which 
he  had  found  in  the  street.  This  enabled  him  to  pur 
chase  live  papers;  and  he  found  the  publisher  readv 
to  wait  upon  him  in  preference  to  the  «tlu-r  bojB  ;  so 
he  was  soon  dispatched  <m  his  second  cruise.  II,- 
wa^  not  many  minutes  in  turning  his  five  papers  into 
fifteen  cents  cash.  This  operation  was  repeated  some 
half  dozen  times  in  the  course  of  -ernoon,  and 


302 

when  night  came,  Billy  found  his  stock  of  cash  had 
increased  to  about  a  dollar. 

This  was  a  great  overturn  in  Billy's  fortune,  suffi 
cient  to  upset  the  heads  of  most  boys  of  his  age ;  but 
though  his  head  swam  a  little  on  first  ascertaining  the 
great  amount  of  money  in  his  pocket,  his  strength 
and  firmness  of  character  sustained  him,  so  that  he 
was  enabled  to  bear  it  with  a  good  degree  of  compo 
sure.  As  the  shadows  of  night  gathered  around  him, 
Billy  began  to  turn  his  thoughts  homeward.  But 
what  could  he  do  ?  He  knew  his  father  too  well  to 
venture  himself  in  his  presence,  and  had  no  hesita 
tion  in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  now, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  spend  the  night  away 
from  home.  Still  he  instinctively  wandered  on 
through  the  streets  that  led  him  towards  home,  for 
the  thought  that  his  mother  had  probably  been  with 
out  food  the  whole  day,  pressed  heavily  upon  his 
mind,  and  he  was  anxious  to  contrive  some  way  to 
afford  her  relief.  As  he  approached  the  neighbor 
hood  of  his  home,  or  rather  the  place  where  his 
parents  I'M-  it  was  no  longer  a  home  to  him, 

he  stopped  at  a  grocer's,  and  purchased  a  sixpenny 
h.af  of  bread,  sixpence  worth  of  gingerbread,  and 
half  a  dozen  herrings,  fop  which  he  paid  another  six- 


HILLY      SNUB.  303 

pence.  With  these  he  turned  into  the  street,  and 
walked  thoughtfully  and  carefully  towards  the  house, 
Stating,  ami  looking  frequently  around  him,  lest 
his  father  mi^ht  be  out,  and  suddenly  seize  him.  At 
la>r  lu-  readied  the  house.  lie  stopped  cautiously  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  looked,  and  listened.  There  was  a 
dim  light  in  the  basement,  but  he  heard  no  sound. 
lie  stepped  lightly  down  the  steps  as  far  as  the  first 
window,  and  through  die  sash,  which  had  lost  a  pane 
of  glass,  he  dropped  his  bundle  of  provisions,  and 
then  ran  with  all  his  speed  down  the  street.  When 
he  reached  the  first  corner  he  stopped  and  looked 
back,  and  by  the  light  of  the  street  lamps,  he  saw 
his  father  and  mother  come  out,  and  stand  on  the 
sidewalk  two  or  three  minutes,  looking  earnestly 
an >und  them  in  every  direction.  They  then  went 
quietly  back  to  their  room,  and  Hilly  cautiously 
returned  again  to  the  hoii-e.  lie  placed  himself  as 
near  the  window  as  he  could,  without  bei  undiscovered 
from  within,  and  listened  to  what  wa<  going  on. 
His  mother  took  the  little  bundle  to  the  table,  and 

it.     Her  eyes  filled  with  teaix   the   nmn 
she  -a\v  what  it  contained,  for  her  first  thougl. 
upon    Billy.     She  could   not   divine  by  what 
she  had  1  such  a  timely  gift,  but  s-Miu-how  or 


304  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

other,  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  Billy  was  in 
some  way  connected  with  it. 

"  Come,  Bill,"  said  Sally  to  her  husband,  "  we've 
got  a  good  supper  at  last ;  now  set  down  and  eat  some." 

Bill  drew  up  to  the  table,  and  ate  as  one  who  had 
been  fasting  for  twenty-four  hours.  After  his  appetite 
began  to  be  satisfied,  said  he,  "  Now,  Sail,  where  do 
you  think  all  this  come  from  ?" 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  anything  about  it,"  said 
Sally  ;  "  but  I  should  n't  be  afi;aid  to  lay  my  life  on 
it,  that  Billy  knows  something  about  it." 

"  So  does  your  granny  know  something  about  it,  as 
much  as  Billy,"  said  Snub,  contemptuously.  "All 
Billy  cares  about  is  to  spend  that  sixpence,  and  eat  it 
up  ;  and  now  he  dares  n't  come  home.  I  wish  I  had 
hold  of  the  little  rascal,  I'd  shake  his  daylights  out ; 
I'd  lick  him  till  he  couldn't  stand." 

"  Oh,  you're  too  cruel  to  that  boy,"  said  Sally  ; 
"  Billy's  a  good  child,  and  would  do  anything  for  me, 
and  for  you  too,  for  all  you  whip  him  so  much.  And 
I  believe  it's  his  means  that  got  somebody  to  give  us 
this  good  supper  to  night.  I  hope  the  dear  child  will 
come  home  pretty  soon,  for  I  feel  worried  'most  to 
death  about  him." 

« I  hope  he'll  come,  too,"  said  Snub,  "  and  I've  a 


H  I  I.  L  Y       S  N  t    l;  .  305 

good  mind  to  go  and  take  a  look  after  him,  tor  I  want 
to  lick  him  most  awfully." 

At  this.  Hilly  began  to  feel  as  though  it  would  IK- 
hazardous  for  him  t«»  remain  any  longer,  so  lie  ha>teiied 
away  down  the  street  to  seek  a  resting-place  for  tin- 
night.  This  he  found  at  last,  in  the  loft  of  a  li\ 
stable,  where  he  crept  away  unobserved,  and  slept 
quietly  till  morning.  True,  he  had  one  or  two  golden 
dreams,  excited  by  his  remarkable  fortune  the  ] 
vioiis  «lav,  and  when  lie  woke  his  iirst  impulse  was  to 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  ascertain  whether  lie 
WM  ivallv  in  possession  of  the  fortune  he  had  been 
dreaming  of,  or  whether  he  was  the  same  poor  Billy 
Snub  that  he  was  two  days  before.  The  three  hard 
silver  quarter*  which  he  felt  in  his  pocket  roused  him 
to  the  reality  of  his  situation,  and  he  sprang  from  his 
hard  coiieh,  soon  after  daylight,  resolved  to  renew  the 
labors  he  had  so  successfully  followed  the  day  before. 
lie  had  now  a  good  capital  to  start  with,  and  could 
work  to  a  better  advantage  than  the  previous  day. 
lie  accordingly  soon  supplied  himself  with  an  armful 
of  papers,  and  placed  himself  on  the  best  routes,  and 
at  the  bu>t  hours.  The  result  was,  that  though  it  was 
pn.pi-rlv  a  news-day,  there  being  no  sub].  ••!  «t' 
.-pedal  interest  to  give  a  demand  for  pa,  t,  by 


306 

his  diligence  and  perseverance,  he  managed  to  clear, 
in  the  course  of  the  day  almost  another  dollar,  leaving 
in  his  pocket,  when  night  came  on,  nearly  a  dollar 
ami  three  quarters. 

Having  completed  his  work  for  the  clay,  his 
thoughts  instinctively  turned  to  the  home  of  his 
parents.  He  felt  an  intense  desire  to  go  ami  sluuv 
with  them  the  joys  of  his  good  fortune ;  but  he  daivd 
not  meet  his  father,  for  he  knew  well  that  a  severe 
punishment  would  be  inflicted  upon  him,  and  that  his 
money  would  "be  taken  from  him  to  purchase  rum. 
He  could  not,  however,  go  to  rest  for  the  night  with 
out  getting  a  sight  of  his  mother,  if  it  were  possible, 
and  purchasing  something  for  her  comfort.  He 
accordingly  went  and  purchased  some  articles  of  pro 
vision,  to  the  amount  of  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  rolled 
them  in  a  paper,  and  made  his  way  homeward.  The 
evening  was  rather  dark,  and  irave  him  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  approach  the  house  without  being  dis 
covered.  He  saw  his  mother,  through  the.  window, 
silting  OH  a  bench  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
with  her  head  reclining  on  her  hand,  ami  apparently 
weeping.  He  could  also  hear  his  father  walking  in 
another  part  of  the  room,  though  he  could  not  see 
him.  lie  crept  can-fully  to  the  window,  dropped  his 


i;  i  I.  i.  \      s  N  l    i:  .  :'"7 

paper  of  provisions  into  the  ro..m,  and  turned  away 
do\vn  tlie  §feree(  ;i-  t'a-t  a-  he  could  run. 

He  went  airain  to  his  solitary  lodgings,  and  rested 
till  morning,  when  he  arose  with  fresh  vigor,  and 
resumed  the  labors  of  the  day.  Tlie  same  exertions 
and  penererance  i»r..dnced  the  same  succ.  -nits 

lie  had  met  with  the  two  previon-  days  ;  and  the  even 
ings  saw  the  table  of  his  parents  again  -].n-ad  with  a 
c..mf..rtahle  nu-al.  whieh  wa-  improved  this  time  by 
the  addition  of  a  little  fruit. 

Thus,  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  Hilly 
successfully  followed  his  new  profession  of  newsboy, 
workinir  hard  and  faring  hard,  in  season  ami  «>ut  of 
m.  early  and  late,  rain  or  shim-.  EBfl  lod-inir 
was  SMMietimes  in  a  stable,  sometime-  am«»n«r  the  ..pen 
market  -tail-,  and  -.-metimes  under  a  por;i<-.>  ..f  - 
pul.lic  building.  His  t'-.-d  wa<  ««f  ;  and 

cheape.-t    kind,  bread   and   cheese,   and    potatoes  and 
fish:  and  sometimes  when   he  had  done  a  good  d 
work,  he  would   treat  him-elf  to  an  apple  or  two,  or 
Borne  other  fruit  that  ha]>]»i-ned  to  be  in  season. 

r.ut    r.illy    never    foriM    his    j.areiits.       Kf-nlarly 
ry  niirht  he  contrived  to  supply  them  with  a  quan 
tity   of  f,H,d    -ntlii-ient    for   the   following  day;  »ime- 
times   carrying   it  himself,   and   dropping    it   in   the 


308 

window,  and  sometimes,  when  the  evening  was  light, 
and  he  was  afraid  of  being  discovered,  employing 
another  boy  to  carry  it  for  him,  while  he  stood  at  the 
corner,  and  watched  to  see  that  his  errand  was  faith 
fully  executed.  At  the  end  of  three  months,  Billy 
found  himself  in  possession  of  thirty  dollars  in  cash, 
notwithstanding  he  had  in  the  meantime  purchased 
himself  a  pretty  good  second-hand  cap,  a  little  too 
small  to  be  sure,  but  nevertheless  he  managed  to  keep 
it  on  the  top  of  his  head ;  also  a  second-hand  frock 
coat,  which  was  somewhat  too  large,  but  whose  capa 
cious  pockets  he  found  exceedingly  convenient  for  car 
rying  his  surplus  gingerbread  and  apples.  He  had 
also,  in  the  meantime,  sent  his  mother  calico  sufficient 
to  make  her  a  gown,  besides  sundry  other  little  arti 
cles  of  wearing  apparel.  He  had  been  careful  all  this 
time  not  to  come  in  contact  with  his  father,  though  ho 
once  came  very  near  falling  into  his  hands.  His 
father  discovered  him  at  a  little  distance  in  the  street, 
and  ran  to  seize  him,  but  Billy  saw  him  in  time  to  flee 
round  a  corner,  and  through  an  alley  way  that  led  to 
another  street,  and  so  escaped. 

Bill  Snub  at  last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his 
son  Billy  was  doing  a  pretty  fair  business  in  some 
thing  or  other,  for  he  had  become  satisfied  that  the 


ii  i  i.\.\     s  N  r  i; .  309 

food  which  he  and  hi<  wife  daily  received  was 
furnished  by  Billy,  as  well  as  occasional  articles  of  his 
wife's  el -thing.  And  when  he  ascertained  from  some 
of  the  boys  of  Billy's  acquaintance,  that  he  had  pro- 
hahly  laid  up  some  thirty  or  forty  dollars  in  cash, 
r>511  at  once  conceived  the  design  of  getting  possession 
of  the  money.  As  he  could  not  catch  Billy  in  the 
street,  he  formed  a  plan  to  get  the  aid  of  police  officers ; 
and,  in  order  to  do  that,  he  found  it  necessary  to  make 
charges  against  Billy.  He  accordingly  repaired  to 
the  police  office,  and  entered  a  complaint  against  his 
boy  for  having  stolen  thirty  or  forty  dollars  of  his 
money,  which  he  was  spending  about  the  streets.  He 
described  the  boy  to  the  police  officers,  who  were  soon 
dispatched  in  search  of  him,  with  orders  to  arrest  him, 
and  see  if  any  money  could  he  found  upon  him.  As 
Hilly  was  flying  about  in  all  parts  of  the  city,  selling 
his  papers,  it  was  nearly  night  before  the  officers  came 
across  him.  He  had  just  sold  ]n>  la<t  paper,  and  was 
walking  K-i-urely  along  the  street,  eating  a  piece  of 
gingerbread  and  an  apple,  when  a  policeman  came 
suddenly  behind  him  and  seized  him  by  the  shoulder. 
Hilly  looked  up  with  surprise,  and  asked  the  man 
what  he  wanted. 

"  I'll  let  you  know  what  I  want,  you  little  rascal  I'1 


310 

said  the  officer,  harshly.  "Where  did  you  get  all 
that  gingerbread  and  apples,  sir  ?" 

"  I  bought  it,"  said  Billy. 

"  You  bought  it,  did  ye  ?  and  where  did  you  get 
the  money,  sir  ?" 

"  I  earnt  it,"  said  Billy. 

"You  earnt  it  did  ye?  and  how  did  you  earn  it, 
sir?" 

"  By  selling  newspapers,"  said  Billy. 

"Tell  me  none  of  your  lies,  sir?"  said  the  man, 
giving  him  an  extra  shake  by  the  shoulder.  "  Now, 
sir,  how  much  money  have  you  got  in  your  pocket- 1" 

"  I've  got  some,"  said  Billy,  trembling  and  trying 
to  pull  away  from  the  man. 

"Got  some,  have  you?"  said  the  officer,  holding 
liini  by  a  still  firmer  gripe.  '•  II<>w  much  have  you 
got,  sir?  Let  me  see  it  '.' ' 

"I  shan't  show  my  money  to  nobody,"  said  Billy, 
"so  you  let  me  alone." 

"We'll  see  about  that,  sir,  when  we  get  to  the 
police  office,"  said  the  man,  dragging  Billy  away  by 
the  shoulder. 

It  was  so  late  in  the  day  when  they  arrived  at  the 
office,  that  the  examining  magistrate  had  left,  and 
-•one  home.  The  eon-table,  therefore,  with  one  of  Inn 


;n 

proceeded  to  >earch    Hilly,  ami   t'<»nnd 
some-thin^  OT6T  thirty  dolla/  v  in   his 

pockets.  I  .illy  persisted  that  he  had  earned  the 
money  hy  scllinir  paper-  ;  luir  tin-  ollicers.  with  much 
rity,  told  him  t<>  leave  ojf  his  lyiiiir.  lor  hoys  that 
>->ld  papers  didn't  liavc  so  much  money  as  that. 
They  knew  all  ali<mt  ir ;  lie  h:id  >t.>h-n  tliv1  iimncy, 
and  lie  must  hv  lacked  up  till  next  moruinir.  \vlu-n  lio 
wniil.l  have  his  trial.  So  they  to,,k  Hilly V  in.-: 
from  him,  and  locked  him  up  in  a  dark  gloomy  room 
for  tli e  niirht.  A  sad  ni^ht  was  thi-  I'.-r  poor  Billy. 
At  first  In-  and  shockcil  at  tin- 

thought  «>t'  IH-IIIL:  locked  up  ah.ne  all  niirht,  that  he 
hardly  ivalixcd  where  lu-  was,  or  what  was  truing  on. 
As  they  ])ii-he«l  him  into  his  solitary  apartment,  and 
d"-ed  the  <l«»<»r  upon  him,  and  turned  tin-  !:. 
irratinir  key,  he  instinctively  elunir  to  the  do.»r  latch, 
ami  tried  to  pull  it  open.  lie  railed  to  them  a<  loud 
as  he  could  scream,  t"  open  the  d"..r  and  let  him  out, 
and  they  mi^ht  have  all  the  money  in  welcome.  I1-- 
c-.uM  p-t  n«.  UBWer,  b^wever,  t«»  hi-  rails  :  and  wlien 
lie  >ti.j>pc«l  and  li-teiied,  the  silence  around  him 
pivs-ed  Ujion  him  with  such  appalling  j-ower,  that  he 

almost  tell  to  tho  floor.     II.-  reeled  acrow  the  n.om 

two  «.r  three  times,  and   returned   a-ain    to  the  door; 


312 

but  there  was  no  chance  to  escape,  and  the  conviction 
was  forced  upon  him  that  he  was  indeed  locked  up, 
and  all  alone,  without  the  power  of  speaking  to  any 
living  being.  He  sank  down  upon  a  bench  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and  wept  a  long  time  most 
bitterly.  When  his  tears  had  somewhat  subsided, 
and  he  roused  himself  up  again  so  as  to  look  about, 
the  night  had  closed  in  and  left  him  in  such  deq> 
darkness  that  he  could  not  see  across  the  room.  He 
rose  and  walked  about,  feeling  his  way  by  the  walls, 
and  continued  to  walk  a  great  part  of  the  night,  for 
there  was  nothing  to  rest  on  but  the  floor  or  the  little 
bench,  and  he  could  not  have  slept  if  he  had  had  the 
softest  bed  in  the  wrorld.  He  could  not  imagine  the 
cause  of  his  imprisonment,  for  he  was  sure  he  had 
injured  no  one  ;  but  what  grieved  him  most,  was  the 
thought  that  his  poor  father  and  mother  were  proba 
bly  without  food,  as  he  had  been  prevented  from 
carrying  anything  home  that  evening.  At  the 
thought  of  his  mother,  his  tears  gushed  forth  again  in 
a  copious  flood. 

Towards  morning  he  sank  down  exhausted  upon 
the  floor,  and  fell  into  a  short  sleep.  Still  he  was 
awake  again  by  daylight,  and  up  and  walking  the 
r  The  morning  seemed  long,  very  long,  to  him, 


-    B, 

l<>r  it  was  ten  nYlnck  bofniv  tin1  nlliccrs  came  to  take 
him  before  the  magistrate.  He  was  glad  to  see  the 
door  open  again,  even  though  it  was  to  carry  him  to 
court,  f«»r  the  idea  of  being  trioil  f»r  stealing  was  not 
so  horrible  to  him  as  being  locked  up  there  alone  in 
that  dark  room. 

The  money  was  given  to  the  magistrate,  and  Billy 
was  placed  at  the  bar  to  answer  to  the  charge  against 
him.  The  office:  ;hat  he  had  found  the  boy  in 

tin-  street  by  the  description  he  had  of  him,  and  on 
searching  him,  the  money  was  found  in  his  pock < 

"Well,  that's  a  clear  case,"  said  the  magistrate ; 
"precious  rogue — largo  amount  for  a  boy — thirty 
dollars — that's  worth  three  months'  imprisonment; 
the  Itov  must  be  locked  up  for  three  months." 

Billy  shuddered,  and  began  to  weep. 

u  If-  to.,  late  to  cry  now,"  said  the  magistrate, 
"you  slmiild  have  thought  of  that  before;  but,  after 
committing  the  crime,  there's  no  way  to  escape  the 
punishment.  What  induced  y..u  to  steal  this  money?" 

"I  didn't  steal  it.  or,"  said  Hilly,  very  earnestly. 

"All,  that  in  only  making  a  bad  matter  worse," 
said  the  magistrate ;  "  the  best  way  for  you  is  to  con 
fess  the  whole,  and  resolve  to  reform  and  do  better  in 

future." 

14 


%  I  -I  "WAY    D  o  w  N    EAST. 

"  But  I  did  n't  steal  it,"  said  Billy  with  increasing 
energy  ;  "  I  earnt  it,  every  cent  of  it !" 

"  You  earnt  it !"  said  the  magistrate,  peering  over 
his  spectacles  at  Billy ;  "  and  how  did  you  earn  it  ?" 

"  By  selling  newspapers,"  said  Billy. 

There  was  something  so  frank  and  open  in  the 
boy's  appearance,  that  the  magistrate  began  to  wake 
up  to  the  subject  a  little.  He  asked  the  officer  if  the 
money  had  been  identified  by  the  loser.  The  officer 
replied  that  the  particular  money  had  not  been  iden 
tified,  only  the  amount. 

"  Well,  bring  the  man  forward,"  said  the  magis 
trate  ;  "  he  must  identify  his  money." 

The  officer  then  called  up  Bill  Snub,  who  was 
stowed  away  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  room,  appa 
rently  desirous  of  keeping  out  of  sight.  This  was  the 
first  intimation  that  Billy  had  that  his  father  was  his 
accuser,  and  it  gave  him  such  a  shock  that  he  sank 
down  upon  the  seat,  and  almost  fainted  away.  The 
magistrate  asked  Snub  if  that  was  his  money,  found 
on  the  boy.  Snub  said  it  was. 

"  Well,  what  sort  of  money  was  it  that  you  lost  ?" 
said  the  magistrate.  "  You  must  describe  it." 

"  Oh,  it  was — it  was  all  good  money,"  said  Snub, 
coloring. 


BILLY      SNUB. 

"But  you  must  be  particular,"  said  the  magistrate, 
"and  describe  the  money.  What  kind  of  money 
was  it?" 

"  Well,  some  of  it  was  paper  money,  and  some  of  it 
was  hard  money,"  said  Snub  ;  "  it's  all  good  money." 

"  But  how  much  of  it  was  hard  money  ?"  said  the 
magistrate. 

"Well,  considerable  of  it,"  said  Bill;  "I  don't 
know  exactly  how  much." 

"  What  banks  were  the  bills  on  ?"  said  the  magis 
trate. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  Bill,  "  but  I 
U-lk've  it  was  some  of  the  banks  of  this  city." 

"  How  large  were  the  bills  P  said  the  magistrate. 

"  Well,  some  of  'em  was  larger,  and  some  smaller," 
sai.l  Hill. 

"  Tliis  business  does  not  look  very  clear,"  said  the 
magistrate.  "  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?" 

"  Bill  Snub,"  was  the  answer. 

••  And  what  is  the  boy's  name?" 

BH»  name  is  Billy  Snub,  Sir." 

M  N  he  any  connection  of  yours?"  said  the  magis 
trate. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  own  it,  sir,  but  he's  my  only  son, 
bad  as  he  is." 


316  '  W  AY       I»n  W  X       !•:  A  ST  . 

The  magistrate,  who  had  been  looking  over  the 
top  of  his  spectacles  some  time,  now  took  them  off, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  sternly  on  Bill. 

"  This  business  must  be  unravelled,  sir.  There  is 
no  evidence  as  yet  on  either  side  ;  but  there  is  some 
thing  mysterious  about  it.  It  must  be  unravelled, 
sir." 

At  this,  a  little  boy  of  about  Billy's  age,  came  for 
ward,  and  told  the  magistrate  that  he  knew  something 
about  the  matter. 

"  Let  him  be  sworn,"  said  the  magistrate  ;  "  and 
now  tell  all  you  know  about  it." 

""Well,  I've  seen  Billy  Snub  selling  lu'w^napcrs 
'most  every  day  this  three  or  four  months ;  and  I've 
known  him  to  make  as  much  as  a  dollar  a-dny  a  good 
many  times.  And  I've  known  he's  been  laying  up 
his  money  all  the  time,  only  a  little,  jest  enough  to 
buy  his  victuals  with,  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
a  day  that  he  took  to  buy  victuals  with  for  his  father 
and  mother.  And  I've  been  a  good  many  times  in 
the  evening,  and  put  the  victuals  into  the  window 
where  his  father  and  mother  lived,  because  Billy 
did  n't  dare  to  go  himself,  for  fear  his  father  would 
catch  him,  and  lick  him  'most  to  death  tor  breaking 
the  rum-bottle  when  he  sent  him  to  get  some  rum. 


i:  i  1. 1.  v     B  N  r  H.  317 

And  I  know  "Hilly  had  got  up  to  about  thirty  dollars, 
for  I've  seen  him  count  it  a  g.»od  many  times.  And 
vrday  hi-  father  wa-  asking  me  what  Hilly  was 
about  all  the  time;  and  said  Hilly  wa-  a  la/y  teller, 
and  never  would  earn  anything  in  the  world.  And 
I  told  him  Hilly  wasn't  lazy,  for  he'd  got  more  than 
thirty  dollars  now,  that  he\l  earnt  selling  papers. 
And  then  he  -aid.  it'  Hilly  had  got  thirty  dollars,  he'd 
have  it  somehow  or  other  before  he  was  two  days 
older." 

M  Y«'ii  may  stop  there,"  said  tlie  magistrate  ;  i%  the 

evidence  is  full  and  clear  enough."     Then  turning  to 

Hill,  he   continued,  with   great   >everity  of  manner, 

"  and,  as  for  }-••          .      r  this   inhuman   ami  wicked 

attempt  to  ruin  your  own  son,  you  stand  committed  to 

•n,  ami  at  hard  labor  lor  the  term  <•!'  one   \\-ar." 

D  he   turned  to   .Hilly,  and  said,  4*  II    ...  my  noble 

lad,  take  your  money  and  go  home   and  take   car. 

your  mother.      Continue  tol.e  iiidu>tri<»ii-  and  honest, 

and  never  fear  hut  that  you  will  prosper." 

•  of  this  history  is  soon  told.  l»illy  was 
really  ivjoired  at  the  opportunity  of  visiting  his 
mother  in  peace  and  safety  again,  and  of  once  more 
having  a  home  where  he  could  rest  in  quietness  at 
night.  Hill  Snub  had  to  servo  out  his  year  in  prison, 


318 

but  Billy  constantly  supplied  him  with  all  the  com 
forts  and  necessaries  of  life  which  his  situation  admit 
ted,  and  always  visited  him  as  often  as  once  a  week. 
And  when  he  came  out  of  prison  he  was  an  altered 
man.  He  joined  the  temperance  society,  and  quitted 
the  rum-bottle  forever.  He  became  more  industrious, 
worked  at  his  trade,  and  earned  enough  to  support 
himself  and  Sally  comfortably. 

Billy  still  pursued  his  profession  with  untiring 
industry  and  great  success.  He  some  time  since 
purchased  a  small  house  and  lot  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  city  for  a  residence  for  his  parents ;  and  at  this 
present  writing  he  has  several  hundred  dollars  in  the 
savings  bank,  besides  many  loose  coins  profitably 
invested  in  various  other  ways.  He  is  act  i  vis 
healthy,  honest,  and  persevering,  and  destined  beyond 
doubt  to  become  a  man  of  wealth  and  lionorahh-  dis 
tinction,  whose  name  will  shine  on  the  page  of  history 
as  the  illustrious  head  of  an  illustrious  line  of  Snubs. 


Til  I-:      PUMPKIN     FRESH  Mil* 


CHAPTEE   XIII. 

• 

THE    PUMPKIN    FRESHET. 

AUNT  PATTY  STOW  is  sixty-seven  years  old ;  not  quite 
as  spry  as  a  irirl  uf  sixteen,  but  a  great  deal  tougher 
— she  has  seen  tough  times  in  her  day.  She  can  do 
as  good  a  day's  work  as  any  woman  within  twenty 
miles  of  her,  and  as  for  walking,  she  can  beat  a  regi 
ment.  (Plural  Taylor's  army  on  the  march  moved 
about  fifteen  miles  a  day,  but  Aunt  Patty,  ..n  a  pinch, 
could  walk  twenty.  She  has  been  spending  the  sum 
mer  with  her  niece  in  New  V..rk;  for  Aunt  Patty 
lias  nieces,  abundance  of  them,  though  she  has  no 
children  :  she  never  had  any.  Aunt  Patty  never  was 
married,  and,  for  the  last  thirty  years,  whenever  the 
-:i«'ii  has  been  asked  her,  why  she  did  not  get 
married,  her  invariable  reply  has  been,  "-he  would 
not  have  the  best  man  that  ever  trod  sh-.e-leatl. 
Aunt  Patty  has  been  spending  the  summer  in  N 
York,  but  she  doesn't  //'>•<  there;  not  she!  she  would 
as  soon  live  on  the  top  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  It' 


320 

you  ask  her  where  she  does  live,  she  always  an 
swers, 

"  On  Susquehanna's  side,  fair  Wyoming." 

This,  to  be  sure,  is  a  poetical  license,  and  before  you 
get  the  sober  prose  answer  to  your  question,  Aunt 
Putty  will  tell  you  that  she  is  "a  great  hand  for 
poetry,"  though  the  line  above  is  the  only  one  she  has 
ever  been  known  to  quote,  even  by  the  oldest  inhabi 
tant,  When  you  get  at  the  truth  of  the  matter,  you 
iind  she  does  live  "on  Susquehanna's  side,"  but  a 
good  ways  from  "fair  Wyoming,"  that  being  in  Penn 
sylvania,  while  her  residence,  for  fifty-eight  years,  has 
been  in  the  old  Indian  valley  of  Oqiiago,  now  Wind 
sor,  in  Broome  county,  New  York.  There,  in  that 
beautiful  bend  of  the  Susquehaima,  some  miles  before 
it  receives  the  waters  of  the  Ohenango,  Aunt  Patty 
has  been  ua  fixture"  ever  since  the  white  inhabitants 
first  penetrated  that  part  of  the  wilderness,  and  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  the  red  man.  There,  when  a 
child,  she  wandered  over  the  meadows  and  by  the 
brook-side  to  catch  trout,  and  clambered  up  the  moun 
tains  to  gather  blueberries,  and  down  into  the  valley- 
for  wild  lillies. 

This   valley  of  Oquago,  before  the   revolutionary 


r  ii  i:     i-  r  M  r  K  i   |  321 

war,  was  the  favorite  ratideooe  ol  an  Indian  tribe, 
and  a  sort  of  hall-way  ground,  a  ivsi  ing-plan-  ibr 
"six  nations''  at  the  north,  ami  the  tribes  of  Wyoming 
at  the  south,  in  visiting  each  other.  It  was  to  the 
Indians  in  Oquago  valley,  that  tin-  celebrated  Dr 
Kd  wards,  while  a  minister  in  Stock  bridge,  Mass.,  sent 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Ilawley  iis  a  missionary;  and  also  sent 
with  him  his  little  son,  nine  years  old,  to  learn  the 
Indian  language,  with  a  view  of  preparing  him  for  an 
Indian  missionary.  And  when  the  French  war  br 
nut,  a  faithful  and  friendly  Indian  took  charge  of  the 
lad,  and  conveyed  him  home  to  his  lather,  carrying 
him  a  good  part  of  the  way  on  his  hack.  P.nt  all  this 
happened  before  Aunt  I'utly's  time,  and  before  any 
white  family,  except  the  miVmnary's,  i\.-ided  within 
a  long  distance  of  Oquago. 

|  1788, Some  families  came  in  fn.m 
*  'iccticut,  and  settled  in  the  valley,  and  Aunt 
I'attyV  lather  and  mother  W«W  among  the  lirM.  'rhu> 
Li-ought  up  to  »• \pi-riniee  the  hardships  and  priva; 
of  a  pioneer  life  in  the  wilderno-,  no  wonder  Aunt 
Tatty  >liould  be  much  >truck  on  viewing  for  the-  lir>t 
time  the  ]»rofn>5on  and  luxury  and  mode  of  life  in  a 
';  -.Tvant  girl  u -as  B6H(  «>ut  tbr  some  br« 

and   in   live  minutes  she   returned    with  a  basket  of 

It* 


322  '  W  A  Y      I)  O  W  N      E  AST. 

wheat  loaves,  fresh  biscuit  and  French  rolls.  Aunt 
Patty  rolled  up  her  eyes  and  lifted  up  both 
hands. 

"Dear  me!"  says  she,  "do  you  call  that  bread? 
And  where,  for  massy  sake,  did  it  come  from  so  quick 
now?  Does  bread  rain  down  from  heaven  here  in 
New  York,  jest  as  the  manna  in  the  Bible  did  to  the 
children  of  Israel  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Aunt  Patty,  there's  a  baker  only  a  few 
steps  off,  just  round  the  next  corner,  who  bakes  more 
than  a  hundred  bushels  a  day;  so  that  we  can  always 
have  hot  bread  and  hot  cakes  there,  half  a  dozen 
tinu-s  a  day  if  we  want  it." 

"  A  hundred  bushels  a  day !"  screamed  Aunt  Patty, 
at  the  top  of  her  voice;  "the  ma<>y  preserve  us! 
Well,  if  you  had  only  been  at  Ocjuago  at  the  time  of 
the  great  punkin  freshet,  you  would  think  a  good  deal 
of  having  bread  so  handy,  I  can  tell  you." 

Aunt  Patty's  niece  took  her  with  her  to  the  Wash 
ington  Market  of  a  Saturday  evening,  and  show*  d 
her  the  profusion  of  fruits  and  vegetables  and  met 
that  covered  an  area  of  two  or  three  acres. 

"The  Lord  be  praised !"  said  Aunt  Patty,  "why, 
here  is  victuals  enough  to  feed  a  whole  nation.  Who 
would  have  thought  that  I  should  a-lived  through  the 


T  11  K      I'  T  M  1'  K  I  N       I    i;  K8  II   i 

punkin  freshet  to  come  to  see  such  a  sight  as  this 

before  I  .lie?" 

At  the  tea  table,  Mrs.  Jones,  for  that  was  the  name 
of  Aunt  Patty's  niece,  had  many  apologies  to  make 
about  the  food  ;  the  bread  was  ton  hard  and  the  but 
ter  was  too  salt,  and  the  fruit  was  too  stale,  and  sonic- 
thing  else  was  too  something  or  other.  At  the 
expression  of  each  apology,  Aunt  Patty  looked  up 
with  wonderment ;  she  knew  not  how  to  understand 
Mrs.  Jones;  for,  t«»  her  view,  a  most  grand  ami  rich 
and  dainty  feast  was  >pivad  before  her.  But  when 
Mr-.  - 1  "ties  summed  up  the  whole  by  declaring  to 
Aunt  Patty  she  was  afraid  she  would  not  be  able  to 
make  out  a  supper  of  their  pn..r  fare,  Aunt  Patty  laid 
dnwn  her  knife,  and  sat  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked 
up  at  Mrs.  Jmies  with  perfect  astonishment. 

-Why,  Sally  J<  id  she,  "  are  you  making 

fun  «.f  me  all  this  time,  or  what  is  it  y«»u  mean!" 

"No,  indeed.  Aunt  Patty,  I  mdy  meant  just  what 
:d:  we  have  rather  a  poor  table  to  iiiirht,  and  I 
was  afraid  you  w<»uld  hardly  make  a  comfort  a: 

Aunt  Patty  ln«.kod  at  Mrs.  Jones  about  a  minute 
without  saying  a  w«»rd.  At  last  she  said,  with  most 
decided  emphasis,  "  Well,  Sally  Jones,  I  can't  tell  how 
it  is>muc  folks  get  such  strange  not  inns  in  their  hea 


324 

but  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  had  seed  what  I  seed,  and 
gone  through  what  I  have  gone  through,  in  the  pun- 
kin  freshet,  when  I  was  a  child,  and  afterwards  come 
to  set  down  to  sich  a  table  as  this,  you'd  think  you 
was  in  heaven." 

Here  Mr.  Jones  burst  out  into  a  broad  laugh. 
"Well  done,  Aunt  Patty !"  said  he,  shoving  back  his 
cup  and  shaking  his  sides;  "the  history  of  that 
pumpkin  freshet  we  must  have;  you  have  excited 
my  curiosity  about  it  to  the  highest  pitch.  Let  us 
have  the  whole  story  now,  by  way  of  seasoning  for 
our  poor  supper.  What  was  the  pumpkin  freshet? 
and  when  was  it,  and  where  was  it,  and  what  did  you 
have'  t<>  d«>  with  it?  Let  us  have  the  whole  story  t'mm 
first  to  last,  will  you  ?" 

"  Well,  Kr.  Jones,  you  ask  me  a  great  question," 
said  Aunt  Patty,  "but  if  I  can't  answer  it,  I  don't 
know  who  can — for  I  seed  thepunkin  freshet  with  my 
own  eyes,  and  lived  on  the  punkins  that  we  pulled 
out  of  the  river  for  two  months  afterwards.  Let  me 
see — it  was  in  the  year  1794;  that  makes  it  sixty 
yean  ago.  Bless  me,  how  the  time  slips  away.  I 
was  only  about  seven  years  old  then.  It  was  a  woodsy 
place,  ()«|uago  Valley  was.  There  wa^  onlj 
families  in  our  neighborhood  then,  though  there  was 


T  H  K      1»  U  M  I*  K  I  N       1-  i:  I!  S  II  i  325 

some  more  settled  away  further  up  the  river.     Major 
\',  my  uncle,  wa-  the  head   man  of  the   neiirhbor- 
hood.      IK-  had   the   host  farm,  and    \. 
hand  to  work,  and  was  tin-  stnuteM  and  toughest  man 
there  wa>  in  tin-in  part-.      Major  Muck   was  the   miii- 
i-ter.     They  always  called  him    Major   I5uck,  hoc; 
he'd  been  a  major  in  the  revolutionary  war,  and  when 
the  war  was  <>ver  he  too'..  d  come  and 

lived   in  O.piaiT".      He   was  a   nice  man;  everyhody 
sot  store  l>y  >Faj'»r  I  hick." 

*'(>]i,  \\\-l  1,  I  don't  care  ahout  Major  Duck,  nor 
Major  Bitow,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "I  want  to  hear  ahout 
the  pumpkin  fiv-het.  What  was  it  that  ma-le  th«- 
]>uni])kin  freshet?" 

M  Why,  the  rain,  I  suppose,"  said  Aunt  Patty, 
l""kiMtLr  ii]>  very  (juietly. 

"Tlie  rain  f  >aid  Mr.   Jones;  "did   it   rain   pump- 
:n  your  younger  days,  in  the  (  ).jua--o  \'alley  !" 

*  \  i^uess  you'd  a-tliou^lit  so,"  said  Aunt  Tatty  -if 

had    >een    the   punkins   c..me   floating  down   the 

rivi-r.    and     rolling    al«»n^  tl;  .    and    uvi-r    the 

meadows.      It  had  heeii  a  Lrr*  for  punkins   that 

IT.  All  the  c..rn-tield>  and  p..ta!"-tii'ld-  "p  ami 
down  the  river  w;  !  all  over  with  Ym,  as  ya! 

as  goold.     The  corn  was  i  turn  hard, 


326  'WAY     i >< >  w  N    K  A  s T  . 

and  the  potatoes  was  ripe  enough  to  pull.  And  then, 
one  day,  it  hegun  to  rain,  kind  of  easy  at  first ;  we 
thought  it  was  only  going  to  be  a  shower ;  but  it 
didn't  hold  up  all  day,  and  in  the  night  it  kept  rain 
ing  harder  and  harder,  and  in  the  morning  it  come 
down  with  a  power.  Well,  it  rained  steady  all  that 
day.  Nobody  went  out  into  the  fields  to  work,  but 
all  staid  in  the  house  and  looked  out  to  see  if  it 
would  n't  hold  up.  When  it  come  night,  it  was  dark 
as  Egypt,  and  the  rain  still  poured  down.  Father 
took  down  the  Bible  and  read  the  account  about  the 
flood,  and  then  we  went  to  bed.  In  the  morning,  a 
little  after  daylight,  Uncle  Major  Stow  come  to  the 
window  and  hollowed  to  us,  and  says  he,  turn  out  all 
hands,  or  ye'll  all  be  in  the  river  in  a  heap. 

"I  guess  we  was  out  of  bed  about  the  quickest. 
There  was  father,  and  mother,  and  John,  and  Jacob, 
and  Hannah,  and  Suzy,  and  Mike,  and  me,  and  Sally, 
and  Jim,  and  Rachel,  all  running  to  the  door  as  hard 
as  we  could  pull.  'We  didn't  stand  much  about 
clothes.  When  father  unbarred  the  door  and  opened 
it — ' oh,'  says  Uncle  Major,  says  he,  "you  may  go 
back  and  dress  yourselves  you'll  have  time  enough 
for  that  ;  but  there's  no  knowing  how  long  you'll  be 
safe,  for  the  Susquehanna  has  got  her  head  up,  and  is 


Til   1.       I'  I     M   P  K  BHXT.  327 

running  like  •  Four  hen-house  has  gone 

m»w.  At  that  Hannah  fetched  a  scream  that  you 
illicit  a  heard  her  half  a  mile,  t-.-r  half  the  ch: 
was  her'n.  As  soon  as  we  got  our  clothes  on,  we  all 
run  nut,  ami  there  we  see  a  sight.  It  still  rained  ;i 
little,  but  not  very  hanl.  Tlie  river,  that  used  to  be 
away  down  in  the  holler,  u-n  rods  from  the  house, 
had  now  tilled  the  holler  full,  and  was  nj>  within  two 
r-'d>  of  our  door.  Tlie  cliicki-n-lionse  was  gone,  an<? 
all  the  hens  and  chickens  with  it,  and  we  never  seed 
nor  heard  nothiif  <>f  it  afterwards. 

"  While  *€  >t«»>d  there  talking  ami  niourniiiir  about 
the  loss  of  the  chickens,  father  he  l«>oked  off  U]M,H 
the  river,  for  it  heirun  to  be  so  li<Jit  that  we  roiil»l  §ee 
across  it  now,  and  father  spoke,  and  says  he,  k  what 
upon  airth  is  all  them  yallow  sjM.t<  lloatinir  along 
down  the  river?' 

"At  that  we  all  turned  n»und  and  looked,  ami 
Tnclf  Major,  says  he,  'by  King  George,  thorn's 
pnnkins!  If  the  Sus.juehanna  ha- n't  Urn  rubbing 
the  {.unkin  iii-lds  in  the  upper  neighborly ..,<!,  there's 
no  snakes  in  ( )<|uago.' 

"And  sure  enough,  they  was  punkin>:  and  they 
kept   coining   along   thicker    and    thicker,    sj»n  . 
away  across  the  river,  and  up  and  down  as  far  as  we 


328 

could  see.  And  bime-by  Mr.  Williams,  from  the 
upper  neighborhood,  come  riding  down  a  horseback 
as  hard  as  he  could  ride,  to  tell  us  to  look  out,  for  the 
river  was  coming  down  like  a  roaring  lion,  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour.  He  said  it  had  run  over  the 
meadows  and  the  low  grounds,  and  swept  off  the 
corn-fields,  and  washed  out  the  potatoes,  and  was 
carrying  off  acres  and  acres  of  punkins  on  its  back. 
The  whole  river,  he  said,  was  turned  into  a  great 
punkin-field.  He  advised  father  to  move  out  what  he 
could  out  of  the  house,  for  he  thought  the  water 
would  come  into  it,  if  it  did  n't  carry  the  house  away. 
So  we  all  went  to  work  as  tight  as  we  could  spring, 
and  Uncle  Major  he  put  to  and  helped  us,  and  we 
carried  out  what  things  we  could,  and  carried  them 
back  a  little  ways,  where  the  ground  was  so  high  we 
thought  the  river  could  n't  reach  'em.  And  then  we 
went  home  with  Uncle  Major  Stow,  and  got  some 
breakfast.  Uncle  Major's  house  was  on  higher 
ground,  and  we  felt  safe  there. 

"  After  breakfast,  father  went  down  to  the  house 
airaiii,  to  see  how  it  looked,  and  presently  he  conic 
miming  back,  and  said  the  water  was  up  to  the  door- 
Bill.  Then  they  began  to  think  the  house  would  go, 
and  we  all  went  down  as  quick  as  we  could,  to  watcli 


T  11  E      I'  f  M  I1  K  1  N       1-  K  i:  b  II  E  T  . 

it.  When  we  got  there,  the  water  wivs  running  into 
the  door,  and  was  all  the  time  rising.  'That  house  is 
a  gone  goose,'  says  Uncle  Major,  says  he,  <  it's  got  t<  > 
take  a  journey  down  the  river  to  look  after  the  hen- 
and  chickens.' 

"  At  that,  mother  begun  to  cry,  and  took  on  about 
it  as  though  her  heart  would  break.  But  father,  says 
he,  Ma,  Patty,'  mother's  name  was  Patty,  and  I 
was  named  after  her;  father,  says  he,  'la,  Patty,  it's 
no  use  crying  for  spilt  milk,  so  you  may  as  well  wipe 
up  yniir  tears.  The  house  aint  gone  yet,  and  if  it 
should  go,  there's  logs  enough  all  handy  here,  and  we 
can  build  another  as  good  as  that  in  a  week.' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  Uncle  Major,  says  he,  '  if  the  house 
goes  down  stream,   we'll   all   turn  to  and  knock  an 
other  '>ne  together  in  short  order.'     So  mother  beirun 
to  be  pacified.     Father  went  and  got  a  couple  of  bed- 
cords  and  hitched  on  to  one  corner  of  the  house,  and 
tied  it  to  a  stump  ;  for,  ho  said,  if  the  water  come  up 
only  jest   high  enough  to  Btftrt   the  house,  maybe  the 
cords  would   keep   it   from  going.     The   water   h 
ii-risinir,  and  in  a  little  more  than  an  hour  after  uv 
back  from  uncle's,  it  was  two  foot  deep  on  the  tloor. 

"'One  foot  more/  says  I'ncle  Major,  says  he,  'will 
take  the  hoii-e  oil'  its  legs.' 


330  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

"  But,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  one  foot  more 
didn't  come.  We  watched  and  watched  an  hour 
longer,  and  the  water  kept  rising  a  little,  but  not  so 
fast  as  it  did,  and  at  last  we  could  n't  see  as  it  ris  an  v 
more.  And,  as  it  had  done  raining,  after  we  found 
it  didn't  rise  any  for  an  hour,  Uncle  Major  he  pro 
nounced  his  opinion  that  the  house  would  stand  it. 
Then  did  n't  we  feel  glad  enough  ?  Before  noon  the 
water  begun  to  settle  away  a  little,  and  before  night 
it  was  clear  of  the  house.  But  Uncle  Major  said  it 
was  so  wet,  it  would  never  do  for  us  to  stay  in  it  that 
night,  without  we  wanted  to  ketch  our  death  a-cold. 
So  we  all  went  up  to  his  house,  and  made  a  great  camp 
bed  on  the  floor,  and  there  we  all  staid  till  morning. 
That  day  we  got  our  things  back  into  the  house  again, 
and  the  river  kept  going  clown  a  little  all  day. 

"But  oh,  such  a  melancholy  sight  as  it  was  t 
the  fields,  you  don't  know.  All  the  low  grounds  had 
been  washed  over  by  the  river,  and  everything  that 
was  growing  had  been  washed  away  and  carried 
down  stream,  or  else  covered  up  with  sand  and  mud. 
Then  in  a  few  weeks  after  that,  come  on  the  starving 
time.  Most  all  the  crops  was  cut  off  by  the  freshet ; 
and  there  we  was  in  the  wilderness,  a>  it  were,  forty 
miles  from  any  place  where  we  could  get  any  help, 


i  ii  i:     i-  c  M  r  K  i  N     i   i:  i.  8  n  El  . 

ami  MM  road  only  a  blind  footpath  through  tin.-  w« »«]<. 
\W11,  pi-Mvisinna  began  to  gn»w  short.  We  had  a 
good  many  pimkins  that  the  boys  pulled  out  of  the 
river  as  they  floated  along  the  bank.  And  it  was 
boiled  punkins  in  the  Mini-Mini:,  and  bMiled  punkin<  at 
noon,  and  bMiled  punkins  at  niglit.  But  that  wasn't 
ray  s«>lid  t'nod,  and  we  hankered  for  something  else. 
We  had  some  meat,  though  not  very  plenty,  and  we 
got  some  roots  and  berries  in  the  wnnds.  But  as  for 
bread,  we  didn't  see  any  from  one  week's  end  to 
another. 

"There  was  but  very  little  corn  or  grain  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  what  little  there  was  couldn't  be 
ground,  for  the  hand-mill  had  been  carried  away  by 
the  ire-bet.  At  la-t,  when  we  had  touched  it  out  live 
or  m  kB,  one  day  Uncle  Major  Stow,  says  he, 

•  well,  T  aint  air-'inir  t«>  stand  this  starving  operation 
any  longer.  I  am  going  to  have  some  bread  and 
11'. ur  cake,  let  it  cost  what  'twill/ 

"AW  all  stared  and  wondered  what  he  meant. 

"'I  tell  ye/  say-  he,  l  I'm  a-iroinir  to  have  some 
hivad  and  Hour  cake  bet'-i'e  the  week's  out,  or  else 
there's  MM  snakes  in  Oipi- 

"  '  AVell.  I  sh oul d  like  to  know  how  yon  are  a-going 
to  get  it,5  says  father,  says  he. 


332 

"  'I'm  a-going  to  mill,'  says  Uncle  Major,  says  lie. 
'  I've  got  a  half  bushel  of  wheat  thrashed  out)  and  if 
any  of  the  neighbors  will  put  in  enough  to  make  up 
another  half  bushel,  I'll  shoulder  it  and  carry  it  down 
to  Wattle's  ferry  to  mill,  and  we'll  have  one  fea-t 
before  we  starve  to  death.  It's  only  about  forty 
miles,  and  I  can  go  and  get  back  again  in  three  or  four 
days.' 

"  They  tried  to  persuade  him  off  the  notion  of  it, 
'twould  be  such  a  long  tiresome  journey  ;  but  he  said 
it  was  no  use  ;  his  half  bushel  of  wheat  had  got  to  go, 
and  he  could  as  well  carry  a  bushel  as  a  half  bushel, 
for  it  would  only  jest  make  a  clever  weight  to 
balance  him.  So  Major  Buck  and  three  other  neigh 
bors,  who  had  a  little  wheat,  put  in  half  a  peck  apiece, 
and  that  made  up  the  bushel.  And  the  next  morn 
ing  at  daylight,  Uncle  Major  shouldered  the  bushel  of 
wheat,  and  started  for  Wattle's  ferry,  forty  miles,  to 
mill. 

"  Every  night  and  morning  while  he  was  gone, 
Major  Buck  used  to  mention  him  in  his  prayers,  ami 
pray  for  his  safe  return.  The  fourth  day,  about  noon, 
we  see  Uncle  Major  coming  out  of  the  woods  with  a 
bag  on  his  shoulder;  and  then,  if  there  wasn't  a 
jumping  and  running  all  over  the  neighborhood,  I 


r  ii  v.     p  r  M  p  K  i  N     !•  i:  BfB  i  833 

again.  Tliey  all  sot  out  and  run  for 
Uncle  Major's  house,  as  tight  us  they  could  leg  it, 
and  tlio  whole  neighborhood  got  there  about  as  soon 
as  ho  did.  In  come  Uncle  Major,  all  of  a  puff, 
and  rolled  the  bag  off  his  shoulder  on  to  the 
bench. 

" '  There,  Molly,'  says  he ;  that,  was  his  wife,  his 
wife's  name  was  Molly ;  '  there,  Molly,  is  as  good  a 
bushel  of  flour  meal  as  you  ever  put  your  hands  into. 
Now  go  t"  work  and  try  your  skill  at  a  short  cake. 
If  we  don't  have  a  regular  feast  this  afternoon,  there's 
no  snakes  in  Oquago.  Bake  two  milk-pans  full,  so  as 
t«>  have  enough  ii.r  the  whole  neighborhood.' 

"'  A  short  cake,  Mr.  Stow,'  says  Aunt  Molly,  says 
she,  '  why  what  are  you  a  thinking  about?  Don't 
you  know  we  haven't  got  a  bit  of  slmrtniif  in  the 
hou>e;  not  a  mite  of  butter,  nor  hog's  fat,  nor  nothin'  i 
II"\v  can  we  make  a  short  ca: 

"'Well,  maybe  some  of  the  neighbors  has  got 
>onio.'  says  Tnele  Major,  says  he. 

"'No,'  says  Aunt  Molly.  k  I  don't  believe  there's  a 
bit  in  the  neighborhood/ 

"Then  they  asked  Major  Buck,  and  father,  and  all 
round,  and  there  wasn't  one  that  had  a  bit  of  butter 
or  hoi:'-  fat. 


334 

"  i  So  your  short  cake  is  all  dough  agin,'  says  Aunt 
Molly,  says  she. 

"'No  taint,  nother,' says  Uncle  Major,  'I  never 
got  agin  a  stump  yet,  but  what  I  got  round  it  some 
way  or  other.  There's  some  of  that  bear's  grease  left 
yet,  and  there's  no  better  shortnin'  in  the  world.  Do 
let  us  have  the  short  cake  as  soon  as  you  can  make  it. 
Come,  boys,  stir  round  and  have  a  good  fire  ready  to 
bake  it.' 

"  Then  Aunt  Molly  stripped  up  her  sleeves,  and 
went  at  it,  and  the  boys  knocked  round  and  made  up 
a  fire,  and  there  was  a  brisk  business  carried  on  there 
for  awhile,  I  can  tell  you.  While  Aunt  was  going  on 
with  the  short  cakes,  Uncle  Major  was  uncommon 
lively.  He  went  along  and  whispered  to  Major 
Buck,  and  Major  Buck  looked  up  at  him  with  a  wild 
kind  of  a  stare,  and  says  he,  '  you  don't  say  so !' 

"Then  Uncle  Major  whispered  to  mother,  and 
mother  says  she,  '  why,  Brother  Stow,  I  don't  believe 
you.' 

"  '  You  may  believe  it  or  not,'  says  Uncle  Major, 
says  he,  '  but  'tis  true  as  Major  Buck's  preachin  Y 

"Then  Uncle  Major  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  whistluT  and  snappiif  his  lingers,  and  some- 
Times  strikin'  up  into  Yankee  Doodle. 


•     ||  •  ;    llllDg  "tit    n   ltlli-i»:i|MTl.uii«IVoil  i-f 

io«;'here,  tmeUol 


i  ii  i.     r  ['  M  r  K  ;  .--  11  i.  'i  . 

"Aunt  Molly  she  «ln  >ppcd  her  work,  and   took 
hand-  out    of  the  douirh,  an.'.  he.  •  Mr.  BtOW,  I 

wonder  what's  «rot  into  you;  it  must  be  somethini: 
more  than  the  >hort  cakes  I'm  sure,  that's  put  such 
lite  into  you/ 

"  'To  be  sure  Yi-,'  says  ITnclo,  'for  the  sliort  cak«-< 
hain't  iM  into  me  yet.'  And  then  lie  turned  round 
and  ^i\v  a  wink  to  mother  and  Major  Duck. 

••  •  \\Y11,  there  now,'  says  Aunt  Molly,  says  she,  '  I 
know  you're  got  some  kind  of  a  secret  that  you've 
l.een  telling  these  folks  here,  and  I  declare  I  Won't 
touch  the  short  cakes  a^ain  till  I  know  what  'tis.' 

"  When  Aunt  Molly  put  her  font  down,  there 
'twas,  ami  nobody  conld  move  her.  So  1'ncle  Major 
knew  he  mi<rht  as  well  come  to  it  iirst  as  last;  and 
says  lu«,  •  well,  M«>lly.  it'-  HM  oae  keeping  a  secrrt 
from  you;  hut  I'\v  --ot  sonn-tliin^  will  make  you 
.-tare  \voi-so  than  the  short  eakee.' 

ut  \Vi-ll,  what  ir^  i;,  Mr.  Stow?'  says  Auiit  Molly, 
4 out  with  it,  and  let  us  know  the  wor-t  of  it.' 

M  •  II.  re/  says  Uncle  Major,  says  he,  pulling  out  a 
little  paper  I. nn. lie  out  of  his   pocket,  and   holding  it 
up  to  Aunt    Molly's   face-;   'here,  -mell   of  that,'  A 
he. 

"  A^  — :    M  Aunt    Molly  smelt  of  it,  she  jumped 


336 

right  up  and  kissed  Uncle  Major  right  before  the 
whole  company^  and  says  she,  '  it's  u-a  !  as  true  as 
I'm  alive,  it's  the  real  bohea.  I  have  n't  smelt  any 
before  for  three  years,  but  I  knew  it  in  a  mo 
ment.' 

" '  Yes,'  says  Uncle  Major,  <  it's  tea ;  there's  a 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  the  real  stuff.  While  my  grist 
was  grinding,  I  went  into  the  store,  and  there  I  found 
they  had  some  tea  ;  and,  thinks  I,  we'll  have  one  dish 
for  all  hands,  to  go  with  the  short  cakes,  if  it  takes 
the  last  copper  I've  got.  So  I  knocked  up  a  bargain 
with,  the  man,  and  bought  a  quarter  of  a  pound  ;  and 
here  'tis.  Now,  Molly,  set  your  wits  to  work,  and 
give  us  a  good  dish  of  tea  with  the  short  cakes,  and 
we'll  have  a  real  thanksgiving ;  we'll  make  it  seem 
like  old  Connecticut  times  again.' 

" i  Well,  now,  Mr.  Stow,  what  shall  we  do  ?'  says 
Aunt.  Molly,  <  for  there  isn't  a  tea-kettle,  nor  a  tea-pot, 
nor  no  cups  and  sarcers  in  the  neighborhood.' 

"  And  that  was  true  enough  ;  they  had  n't  had  any 
tea  since  they  moved  from  Connecticut,  so  tlu-y 
Lad  n't  got  any  tea-dishes. 

"  i  Well,  I  don't  care,'  says  Uncle  Major,  says  li<\ 
<  we'll  have  the  tea,  any  how.  There's  the  dish- 
kettle,  you  can  boil  the  water  in  that,  and  you  can 


T  ME      PUM  r  K  I  337 

the  tcu  in  the  same,  and  when  it's  done  I  guess 
we'll  contrive  some  way  or  other  to  drink  it.' 

"  So  Aunt  M-»lly  «la<ln.'d  round  and  drove  on  with 
the  work,  and  got  the  short-cake^  made,  and  the  boys 
got  the  lire  made,  and  they  got  the  cakes  down  to 
baking  and  about  four  quarts  of  water  hung  on  in  the 
di.-h-kettle  to  boil  for  tea,  and  when  it  began  to  boil, 
the  whole  quarter  of  a  pound  of  tea  was  put  into  it 
to  steep.  Bime-by  they  had  the  table  set  out,  and  a 
lonir  1  tench  on  one  side,  and  chairs  on  the  other  side, 
and  there  was  two  milk-pans  set  on  the  table  filled  up 
heaping  full  of  short-cakes,  and  the  old  folks  all  sot 
down,  and  fell  to  eating,  and  we  children  stood  behind 
them  with  our  hand-*  full,  eating  tu.  And  oh,  them 
short-cakes,  seems  to  me,  I  never  shall  forget  how 
good  they  tasted  the  longest  day  I  live. 

"After  they  eat  a  little  while,  Uncle  Major  called 
tor  the  tea  ;  and  what  do  you  think  they  did  for  tea 
cup-?  Why,  they  took  a  two  quart  wooden  bowl, 
and  turned  off  tea  enough  to  till  it,  and  sot  it  on  to 
the  table.  They  handed  it  up  to  Major  Buck  fir- 
he  was  the  mini-trr.  and  >ot  to  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  he  took  a  drink,  and  handed  it  to  Uncle  Major 
Stow,  and  ho  took  a  drink,  and  then  they  passed  it  all 

round  the  table,  from  one  to  t'other,  and  they  all  took 

15 


'  \V  A  Y      DOWN      EAST. 

a  drink;  and  when  that  was  gone,  they  turned  ont 
the  rest  of  the  tea,  and  tilled  the  bowl  np,  and  driiilu-d 
round  again.  Then  they  poured  some  more  water 
into  the  dish-kettle,  and  steeped  the  tea  over  again  a 
few  minutes,  and  turned  out  a  bowlful,  and  passed 
it  round  for  us  children  to  taste  of.  But  if  it  want 
for  the  name  of  tea,  we  had  a  good  deal  rather  have 
water,  for  it  was  such  bitter,  miserable  stuff,  it  spoilt 
the  taste  of  the  short-cakes.  But  the  old  folks  said  if 
we  did  n't  love  it,  we  need  n't  drink  it ;  so  they  took 
it  and  drinkt  up  the  rest  of  it. 

'<  And  there  they  sot  all  the  afternoon,  eating  short 
cakes,  and  drinking  tea,  and  lei  ling  stories,  and  having 
a  merry  thanksgiving  of  it.  And  that's  the  way  we 
lived  at  the  time  of  the  punkin  freshet  in  the  valley 
of  Oquago." 

NOTE — The  main  incidents  in  this  sketch,  in  relation  to  the  early 
settlement  of  Oquago  Valley,  the  "  pumpkin  freshet,"  Major  Stow'a 
pedestrian  journey  of  forty  miles  to  mill,  the  bushel  of  wheat,  tho 
short-cakes  and  the  tea,  are  all  historically  true. 


A    KA«-  i.    i-  "i:  •   i  ii  I.A  I:T  . 


CIIAPTEK  XIV. 

:ACE   FOB   A   SWEETHEART. 

1 1  \Khi.v  any  event  creates  a  stronger  sensation  in  a 
thinly  settled  New  Kn  gland  villa,-  -'ally  among 

the  young  folks,  than  the  arrival  of  a  fre<h  and  bloom 
ing  miss,  who  comes  to  make  her  al>ode  in  the  neigh- 
Whond.  When,  therefore,  Squire  Johnson,  the  only 
lawyer  in  the  place,  and  a  very  .Me  man  of 

course,  told  Farmer  Jones  one  afternoon  that  his 
wife's  sister,  a  smart  girl  of  eighteen,  WH  coming  in 
a  few  days  to  reside  in  his  family,  the  news  th-w  like 
wildtire  through  Pond  Village,  and  was  the  principal 
topic  of  conversation  for  a  week.  Pond  Villa- 
.-ituatcd  iip<.n  the-  margin  of  one  of  those  mimer«'iis 
and  heantit'ul  sheets  «.f  water  that  gem  the  whole  sm- 
•  ..f  N\-w  Kngland,  like  the  1. right  stars  in  an  even 
ing  sky,  and  received  its  appellation  to  distinguish 
it  fn.ni  two  or  three  oilier  village-  in  the  sanio  town, 
which  e«»uld  not  hoa>t  nf  a  similar  location.  AVhen 
Farmer  Jones  came  in  to  his  supper,  ahout  sunset  that 


afternoon,  and  took  his  scat  at  the  tablu.  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  family  were  upon  him,  fur  there  was  a 
peculiar  working  about  his  mouth,  and  a  knowing 
glance  of  his  eye,  that  always  told  them  when  he  had 
anything  of  interest  to  communicate.  But  Farmer 
Jones'  secretiveness  was  large,  and  his  temperament 
not  the  most  active,  and  he  would  probably  have 
rolled  the  important  secret  as  a  sweet  morsel  under  his 
tongue  for  a  long  time,  had  not  Mrs.  Jones,  who  was 
rather  of  an  impatient  and  prying  turn  of  mind,  con- 
t rived  to  draw  it  from  him. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  she,  as  she  handed  him  his 
cup  of  tea,  "  what  is  it  you  are  going  to  say  ?  Do  out 
with  it;  for  you've  been  chawing  something  or  other 
over  in  your  mind  ever  since  you  came  into  the 
house." 

"It's  my  tobacher,  I  s'spose,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  with 
another  knowing  glance  of  his  eye. 

"  Now,  father,  what  is  the  use  ?"  said  Susan  ;  "  we 
all  know  you've  got  something  or  other  you  want  to 
say,  and  why  can't  you  tell  us  what  'tis." 

"  La,  who  cares  what  'tis  ?"  said  Mrs.  Jones ;  "  if  it 
was  anything  worth  telling,  we  shouldn't  have  to  wait 
for  it,  I  dare  say." 

Hereupon  Mrs.  Joues  assumed  an  air  of  the  most 


A      BAOJ       FOB     A  HEART.  341 

perfect  indififovetioe,  as  the  >  ay  of  conquering 

what   -he  was  plea-« -.1   t«»  call    Mr.  .I..in>'<  obstinacy, 
which,  by  tlu-  way.  wa-  a  very  improper  term  to  apply 
in  the  case;  for  it  wa-  purely  the  working  of  sc< 
tivcncss,    without    the    least    particle    of    obstinacy 
attached  : 

v  was  a  pause  of  two  or  three  minutes  in  the 
conversation,  till  Mr.  Jones  passed  his  cup  to  be  filled 
a  second  time,  when,  with  a  couple  of  preparatory 
hems  he  began  to  let  out  the  secret. 

"  AVe  are  to  have  a  new  neighbor  here  in  a  few 
days,"  said  Mr.  JOH6B,  >ti.ppinir  >h«.rt  when  he  had 
uttered  thus  much,  and  >ippinir  his  tea  and  tilling  his 
mouth  with  food. 

Mr-.  Jones,  who  was  jM-rSect  in  her  tactics,  said  not 
a  word,  l,ut  attended  to  the  ailairs  of  her  table,  as 
though  she  had  not  noticed  what  was  said.  The  far 
mer's  ftecretiyenea  had  at  last  worked  it-ell'  out,  and 
he  beiran  again. 

.lire  Johnson's  wife's  sister  is  coming  here  in  a 
few  days,  and  is  going  to  live  with  Vin." 

The  news  being  thus  fairly  divulged,  it  let': 
sc«>pe  I'MI-  conversation. 

"Well,  1  wonder  if  she  is  a  proud,  stuck-up  p: 
said  Mrs.  Jones. 


342 

"I  should  n't  think  she  would  be,"  said  Susan,  "for 
there  aint  a  more  sociabler  woman  in  the  neighbor 
hood  than  Miss  Johnson.  So  if  she  is  at  all  like  her 
sister,  I  think  we  shall  like  her." 

"  I  wonder  how  old  she  is  ?"  said  Stephen,  who  was 
just  verging  toward  the  close  of  his  twenty-first  year. 

"  The  squire  called  her  eighteen,"  said  Mr.  Jones, 
giving  a  wink  to  his  wife,  as  much  as  to  say,  that's 
about  the  right  age  for  Stephen. 

"I  wonder  if  she  is  handsome,"  said  Susan,  who 
was  somewhat  vain  of  her  own  looks,  and  having 
been  a  sort  of  reigning  belle  in  Pond  Village,  for 
some  time,  she  felt  a  little  alarm  at  the  idea  of  a  rival. 

"  I  dare  be  bound  she's  handsome,"  said  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  if  she's  a  sister  to  Miss  Johnson,  for  where'll  you  find 
a  handsomer  woman  than  Miss  Johnson,  go  the  town 
through  ?" 

After  supper,  Stephen  went  down  to  Mr.  Robinson's 
store,  and  told  the  news  to  young  Charles  Robinson, 
and  all  the  young  fellows,  who  were  gathered  there  for 
a  game  at  quoits,  and  a  ring  at  wrestling.  And  Susan 
went  directly  over  to  Mr.  Bean's  and  told  Patty,  and 
Patty  went  round  to  the  Widow  Davis'  and  told  Sally, 
and  before  nine  o'clock,  the  matter  was  pretty  \\vll 
understood  in  about  every  house  in  the  village. 


A     K  A.  \      s\\  I.I.  I  IIEAET.  34:3 

At  the  close  of  the  fourth  day,  a  little  before  sunset, 
;i    chai-e    \\  a-    >een    to   drive    up   to   S.piire    .lohn- 

:.     ( )f  course  the  eyes  of  the  whole  villa., 
turned  in  that  direction.     Sally  I>a\k  who 
coining  in  from  milking,  set  her  pail  down  on  the 
grass  by  the  side  of  the  road,  as  soon  as  the  ch; 
came  in  sight,  and  watched  it  till  it  reached  the  squire's 
door,  and  the  gentleman  and  lady  had  got  out  and 
gone  into  the  house.     Patty  In  an  was  doing  up  the 
ironing  that  afternoon,  and  she  had  ju>t  taken  a  hot 
iron  from  the  iire  as  the  chai-e  pa->ed  the  door,  and 
she  ran  with  it  in  her  hand,  and  stood  on  the  door-si 
till  the  whole  ceremony  of  alighting,  gr  and 

entering  the  house  was  over.     Old  Mrs.  Dean  stood 
with   her  head   out  of  the  window,  her   iron-bo-, 
spec-tad  g  up  on  the  top  of  her  torch 

shriveled  hand  placed  across  her  eyebrows,  to  defend 
her  red  eyes  In -in  ihc  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  her 
:iy  chin  protruding  about  thn  in  advance 

of  a  couple  of  stubs  of  teeth,  which  her  open  mouth 
exposed  fairly  to  \ 

"It  seems  to  me,  they  arc  dreadful  loving."  said  old 
A- Mrs.  Johnson  descend  the  steps 
and  welcome  her  >ister  with  a  kiss. 

"  La  me,  if  there  isn't  the  MJ  ;.  r  tu/' 


344 

said  Patty ;  "  well,  I  declare,  I  would  a- waited  till  I 
got  into  the  house,  I'll  die  if  I  would  n't.  It  looks  so 
vulgar  to  be  kissing  afore  folks,  and  out  of  doors  tu  ; 
I  should  think  Squire  Johnson  would  be  ashamed  of 
himself." 

"  Well,  I  should  n't,"  said  young  John  Bean,  who 
came  up  at  the  moment,  and  who  had  passed  the 
chaise  just  as  the  young  lady  alighted  from  it.  "I 
should  n't  be  ashamed  to  kiss  sich  a  pretty  gal  as  that 
anyhow ;  I'd  kiss  her  wherever  I  could  catch  her,  if 
it  was  in  the  meetin-house." 

"  Why,  is  she  handsome,  Jack  ?"  said  Patty. 

"  Yes,  she's  got  the  prettiest  little  puckery  mouth 
I've  seen  these  six  months.  Her  cheeks  are  red,  and 
her  eyes  shine  like  new  buttons." 

"Well,"  replied  Patty,  "  if  she'll  only  take  the  shine 
off  Susan  Jones  when  she  goes  to  meetin',  Sunday,  I 
sha'nt  care." 

While  these  observations  were  going  on  at  old  Mr. 
Bean's,  Charles  Robinson,  and  a  group  of  young  fel 
lows  with  him,  where  standing  in  front  of  Robinson's 
store,  a  little  farther  down  the  road,  and  watching  the 
scenes  that  was  passing  at  Squire  Johnson's.  They 
witnessed  the  whole  with  becoming  decorum,  now  and 
then  making  a  remark  upnii  the  line  horse  and  the 


A    RACK      1"K      A      r- W  K  i:T  HEART.  34:5 

handsome  chaise,  till  they  saw  the  tall  squire  hond  his 
head  down,  and  give  tin-  young  lady  a  kiss,  when  they 
all  burst  out  into  a  loud  laugh.  In  a  moment,  being 
conscious  that  their  laugh  must  be  heard  ami  noticed 
at  the  squire's,  they,  in  order  to  do  away  the  impiv- 
sion  it  must  necessarily  make,  at  once  turned  their 
heads  the  other  way.  and,  Charles  Eobinson  who  was 
quick  at  an  expedient,  knocked  off  the  hat  of  the  lad 
who  was  standing  next  to  him,  and  then  they  all 
laughed  louder  than  before. 

"Here  comes  Jack  Bean,"  said  Charles,  "now  we 
shall  hear  something  about  her,  for  Jack  was  coming 
by  the  squire's  when  she  got  out  of  the  chaise.  How 
does  she  look,  Jack  ?" 

"  Handsome  as  a  pictur,"  said  Jack.    "  I  hain; 
a  prettier  gal  since  last  Thanksgiving  Day,  when  Jano 
Ford  was  here  t«>  visit  Susan  Jones." 

"Black  ejefl  or  blue  r  said  Cha; 

«  Bltie,"  Bik  'Lilt  all-iired  bright." 

"Tailor  short?"  said  Stephen  Jones,  who  was  ra 
ther  short  himself,  and  therefore  felt  a  particular 
interest  on  that  point. 

"  Rather  short,"  said  Jack,  "  but  straight  and  round 
as  a  you 

"Do  you  know  what  her  name  is  T'  said  < 
15* 


346 

"  They  called  her  Lucy  when  she  got  out  of  the 
chaise,"  said  Jack,  "  and  as  Miss  Johnson's  name  was 
Brown  before  she  was  married,  I  s'pose  her  name 
must  be  Lucy  Brown." 

"  Just  such  a  name  as  I  like,"  said  Charles  Robin 
son  ;  "  Lucy  Brown  sounds  well.  Now  suppose  in 
order  to  get  acquainted  with  her,  we  all  hands  take  a 
sail  to-morrow  night,  about  this  time,  on  the  pond, 
and  invite  her  to  go  with  us." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Stephen  Jones.  "  Agreed,"  said 
Jack  Bean.  "  Agreed,"  said  all  hands. 

The  question  then  arose  who  should  carry  the  invi 
tation  to  her;  and  the  young  men  being  rather  ba>h- 
ful  on  that  score,  it  was  finally  settled  that  Susan 
Jones  should  bear  the  invitation,  and  accompany  her 
to  the  boat,  where  they  should  all  be  in  waiting  to  re 
ceive  her.  The  next  day  wa-  a  very  l..nir  day,  at 
least  to  most  of  the  young  men  of  Pond  village; 
and  promptly  an  hour  before  sunset,  most  <»f  them 
were  assembled,  with  a  half  a  score  of  their  sisters 
and  female  cousins,  by  a  little  stone  wharf  on  the 
margin  of  the  pond,  for  the  proposed  sail.  All  the 
girls  in  the  village  of  a  suitable  ago  wen  there, 
except  Patty  Bean.  She  had  un-!  ">d  deal 

of  fidgeting  and  fussing  during  tin-  day,  t«>  juv] 


A    RACE     FOB     A     SW  1. 1/1  ill   AIM. 

t'<»r  the  sail,  but  hail    I"  .ppointed.     Her  new 

bonnet  was  not  done;  and  as  to  wearing  her  old  tlap- 
sided  bonnet,  -he  declared  ^he  would  not,  if -In-  IK 
went.     Piv-L-ntly  Susan  Jones  and  Miss  Lucy  Brown 
were  M'Oii  coming  down  the  road. 

In  a  moment,  all  was  <piiet,  the  laugh  and  joke  were 
hushed,  and  each  one  put  on  his  best  looks.  AVhen 
they  arrived,  Susan  went  through  the  ceremony  of 
intn.(lucin«r  Miss  Brown  to  each  of  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  present. 

"But  h«>w  in  the  world  are  you  going  to  sail?"  said 
Miss  Brown,  "  for  there  isn't  a  breath  of  wind  ;  and  I 
d»»n't  >ee  any  sail-lmat,  neitli< 

"  Oh,  the  less  wind  we  have,  the  better,  when  we 
sail  here,"  -aid  Charles  Robinson,  "  and  there  is  our 
>ail-l»..at,"  pointing  to  a  flat-bottom^!  scow-boat,  some 

twel:'  :i  wide. 

u  We  don't  use  no  sail-."  -aid  Jack  Bean  ;  "some 
times,   when   the   wind   i<   fair,   we  j.ut   up  a  bush 
help  pull  along  a  little,  and  when  'ti-  n't,  we  row." 

The  par  ^oon  embarked  on  board 

and  a  couple  of  oars  were  set  in  motion,  and  thev  gli- 
ded  -l.wly  and  pleanntlj  orer  as  lovely  a  sheet  of 
water  as  ever  glowed  in  the  sun  In  one 

hour's  time,  the  whole  party  felt  perfectly  ac.|iiai:. 


348  '  W  AY      DOWN      EAST. 

with  Miss  Lucy  Brown.  She  had  talked  in  the  most 
lively  and  fascinating  manner ;  she  hud  told  stories  and 
sung  songs.  Among  others,  she  had  given  Moore's 
boat  song  with  the  sweetest  possible  effect ;  and  by 
the  time  they  returned  to  the  landing,  it  would  hardly 
be  too  much  to  say  that  half  the  young  men  in  the 
party  were  decidedly  in  love  with  her. 

A  stern  regard  to  truth  requires  a  remark  to  be 
made  here,  not  altogether  favorable  to  Susan  Jones, 
which  is  the  more  to  be  regretted,  as  she  was  in  the 
main  an  excellent  hearted  girl,  and  highly  esteemed 
by  the  whole  village.  It  was  observed  that  as  the 
company  grew  more  and  more  pleased  with  Miss 
Lucy  Brown,  Susan  Jones  was  less  and  less  animated, 
till  at  last  she  became  quite  reserved,  and  apparently 
sad.  She,  however,  on  landing,  treated  Miss  Brown 
with  respectful  attention,  accompanied  her  home  to 
Squire  Johnson's  door,  and  cordially  bade  her  good 
night. 

The  casual  glimpses  which  the  young  men  of  Pond 
village  had  of  Miss  Brown  during  the  remainder  of  the 
week,  as  she  occasionally  stood  at  the  door,  or  looked 
out  at  the  window,  or  once  or  twice  when  she  walked 
out  with  Susan  Jones,  and  the  fair  view  they  all  had 
of  her  at  meeting  on  the  Sabbath,  served  but  to 


A     RACE     FOR     A     SW!  i:T. 

increase  their  admiration,  ami  t«>  render  her  m<>iv  and 
moreanobj<  (fraction.  She  was  re-anled  l»y 

all  as  a  pri/,e,  au«l  several  of  them  were  already  plan 
ning  what  steps  it  was  IK-SI  t<>  take  in  order  to  win 
her.  Tlic  two  m,.st  prominent  candidates,  however, 

for  Miss   r.rown'  .  were  Charles   Rohinson  and 

Stephen  Jones.     Their  p  iinir  among 

the  vun.ir  men  of  the  village  seemed  t<^>  put  all  others 
in  the  l.aek-tirroinnl.  Charles,  whose  father  was 
wealthy,  had  every  ad  vantage  which  money  could 
procure.  But  Stephen,  though  poor,  had  decidedly 
the  advanta-e  of  Charles  in  pi-ivonal  reeommer.da- 
tiou-.  lie  had  more  talent,  was  m-re  sprightly  and 
intelligent,  and  more  pleasing  in  his  address.  From 
the  evening  of  the  sail  «»n  the  pond,  they  had  hoth 
evei-y  movement  of  Mi.—  P.p-wn  with  the 
intense  interest  :  and.  as  nothing  can  deceive  a 
lover,  each  had.  with  an  interest  no  less  int-  • 
watehe«l  eT6ry  movement  «»f  the  other.  They  had 
led  tO  -peak  to  each  other  ahoiit  her,  and  if  her 
name  was  mentioned  in  their  pre-> 

always  observed  to  color. 

The    <«--rond    week    after  her   arrival,   through    the 
inlluenee  of  S.piire  Johnson,  the  disti'iet    -ehool  W8S 
.vn  on  the  other  -ide  «•]'  the   pond, 


'  W  A  V      DOWN      E  A  S  T  .  350 

which  offer  was  accepted,  and  she  went  immediately 

to  take  charge  of  it.  This  announcement  at  1ii>t  threw 
something  of  a  damper  upon  the  spirits  of  the  younir 
pe<  >ple  of  Pond  village.  But  when  it  was  understood 
that  the  school  would  continue  but  a  few  weeks,  and 
being  but  a  mile  and  a  half  distant,  Miss  Brown  would 
come  home  every  Saturday  afternoon,  and  spend  the 
Sabbath,  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  be  reconciled  to 
the  temporary  arrangement.  The  week  wore  away 
heavily,  especially  to  Charles  Robinson  and  Stephen 
Jones.  They  counted  the  days  impatiently  till  Satur 
day,  and  on  Saturday  they  counted  the  long  and  lag 
ging  hours  till  noon.  They  had  both  made  up  their 
minds  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  \vait  longer,  and 
they  had  both  resolved  not  to  let  another  Sabbath  pass 
without  making  direct  proposals  to  Miss  Hi-own. 

Stephen  Jones  was  too  early  a  riser  for  Charles 
Robinson,  and,  in  any  enterprize  where  both  \\ 
concerned,  was  pretty  sure  to  take  the  lead,  except 
where  money  could  carry  the  palm,  and  then,  of 
course,  it  was  always  borne  away  by  Charles.  As 
cy  had  been  absent  most  of  the  week,  and  was 
to  be  at  home  that  afiernoon,  Charles  Robinson  had 
made  an  arr;.  :;t  with  his  mother  I  r  to 

have  a  little  tea  party  in  the  evening,  for  the  purpose 


A    RA<  I:T.  351 

of  inviting  Mi>s  Hi-own  ;  ami  then,  of  course,  he 
should  walk  home  with  her  in  the  evening;  and  t 
of  oonne,  would  u«  a  ^.d  opportunity  to  break  the 
ice,  ami  make  known  t«.  her  his  feelin<r-  ami  his  wishes. 
Stephen  .lom-.  however,  wa<  \n»i\-  jn-iunjit  in  his 
im'Yonu-nts.  IK-  had  ir"t  wind  ..f  tlu-  pn»posi-d  tea 
party,  altli«>iiirli  liinisrlt'  and  si-tcr,  tor  «»l>vious  reasons, 
lia«l  nut  lu-on  invited,  and  lu-  iv>«>lvt'd  not  to  ri-k  tlio 
arrival  «>f  Mi>s  lin.wn  and  lu-r  visit  to  Mr.  Robinson's 
•  iv  lie.  should  >LV  lu-r.  Slu-  w«>nld  dismiss  IKT 
sch«»,,l  at  imnii,  and  come  tin-  di-tancc  of  a  mile  and 
a  halt'  rmiml  the  p..nd  IIMHK-.  Hi>  mind  was  at  01 
made  up.  He  would  .rn  i-unnd  and  imvt  lior  at  the 
scho,.l-hon-e,  and  accninpany  her  on  her  walk.  Th 
in  that  winding  road,  around  those  delightful  waters, 
with  the  tall  and  shady  :  .-lu-ad.  and  the  wild 

irrape-vine-  twininir  round  their  trunk-,  ami  clinihinir 
to  the    1  .    while   the   wild    hir< 

throiiL'h  the  woods,  and  the  wild  dnek-  playing  in  thu 

in-ly   there,   it'  anvwhen-   in 
the  world,  could  a  man  hrinir  his  mind  up  t«>  the  point 

of  i]  -f  lore. 

a-diiiLdy,  a  little  hrfore   ;  n  washed 

and    1. niched    him-elt'   ii]>,   and    put  E        lay 

cl«.thes,  and  started   <»n    hi-  e.\[.edition.      In   order  to 


352 


WAY      DOWN     EAST. 


avoid  observation,  lie  took  a  back  route  across  the 
field,  intending  to  come  into  the  road  by  the  pond,  a 
little  out  of  the  village.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
Charles  Robinson  had  been  out  in  the  same  direction, 
and  was  returning  with  an  armful  of  green  boughs 
and  wild  flowers,  to  ornament  the  parlor  for  the  even 
ing.  He  saw  Stephen,  and  noticed  his  dress,  and  the 
direction  he  was  going,  and  he  at  once  smoked  the 
whole  business.  His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  upon 
him  and  collar  him,  and  demand  that  he  should 
return  back.  But  then  he  recollected  that  in  the  las t 
scratch  he  had  with  Stephen,  two  or  three  years 
before,  he  had  a  little  the  worst  of  it,  and  he  instinct 
ively  stood  still,  while  Stephen  passed  on  without 
seeing  him.  It  flashed  upon  his  mind  at  once  that 
the  question  must  now  be  reduced  to  a  game  of  speed. 
If  he  could  by  any  means  gain  the  school-house  first, 
and  engage  Miss  Lucy  to  walk  home  with  him,  lie 
should  consider  himself  safe.  But  if  Stephen  should 
reach  the  school-house  first,  he  should  feel  a  good  deal 
of  uneasiness  for  the  consequences.  Stephen  was 
walking,  very  leisurely,  and  unconscious  that  he  was 
in  any  danger  of  a  competitor  on  the  course,  and  it 
was  important  that  his  suspicions  should  not  be 
awakened.  Charlea  therefore  remained  perfectly 


A      K  At    I.      J  ••<•  li      A      S  \V  LK1  II  1.  A  K  i  . 

quiet  till  Stephen  had  got  a  little  out  of  hearing,  and 
then  threw  down  hi>  luishes  and  llowe.r>,  and  ran  to 
the  whsirf  below  the  store  with  his  utin.-t  -peed.  He 
had  MM  advantage  over  Stephen,  lie  wa.?  ready  at  a 
moment's  warning  to  start  on  an  expedition  «.,f  this 
kind,  for  Sunday  clothes  was  an  every  day  affair  with 
him. 

There  was  a  light  canoe  belonging  to  his  father 
lying  at  the  wharf,  and  a  couple  of  stout  bo\> 
tlu  :  :  g,  Charles  hailed  them,  and  told  them  if 
they  would  row  him  across  the  pond  as  quick  as  they 
-ibly  could,  he  would  give  them  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar  a-picce.  This,  in  their  view,  was  a  splendid 
offer  for  their  services,  and  they  jumped  on  board 
with  alacrity  and  manned  the  oars.  Charles  took  a 
paddle  and  stood  in  the  stern  to  steer  the  boat,  and 
help  propel  her  ahead.  The  di-tance  by  water  was  a 
littl.  .an  by  land,  and  although  Stephen  had 

coiiMdrral.lv  fft  of  him,  he  believed  he  should 

be  able  h    the  school  :  ially  if 

Stephen  should  not  see  him  and  .juieken  hi-  pare.      In 
minute   after  he   arrive  '.  .vharf,  the    1 

under  full  v.  .id  down  to  the  01 

with    right  good   will,   and   ('  put   out   all    his 

strength  upon  the  paddle.     They  were  >hooting  over 


354: 

the  water  twice  as  fast  as  a  man  could  walk,  and 
Charles  already  felt  sure  of  the  victory.  Hut  when 
they  had  gone  about  half  a  mile,  they  came  in  the 
range  of  a  little  opening  in  the  trees  on  the  shore, 
where  the  road  was  exposed  to  view,  and  there,  at 
that  critical  moment,  was  Stephen  pin-suing  Iris  easy 
walk.  Charles's  heart  was  in  his  mouth.  Still  it  was 
possible  Stephen  might  not  see  them,  for  he  had  not 
yet  looked  around.  Lest  the  sound  of  the  ours  might 
attract  his  attention,  Charles  had  instantly,  on  coming 
-lit,  ordered  the  boys  to  stop  rowing,  and  he 
grasped  his  paddle  with  breathless  anxiety,  and 
waited  for  Stephen  again  to  disappear.  But  ji: 
lie  was  upon  the  point  of  passing  behind  some  trees, 
where  the  boat  would  be  out  of  his  sight,  Stephen 
turned  his  head  and  looked  round,  lie  stopped 
short,  turned  stjuare  round,  and  stood  for  the  spare  of 
a  minute  looking  steadily  at  the  boat.  Then  lifting 
his  hand,  and  shaking  his  list  resolutely  at  Charles,  as 
much  as  to  say,  I  understand  you,  he  started  into  u 
quick  run. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Charles,  "  buckle  to  your  oars 
for  your  lives,  and  if  you  get  to  the  simro  so  I  can 
reach  the  scho,.l-hou>e  before  Stephen  dues,  I'll  give 
you  a  half  a  dollar  a-piece." 


i.  T  II  1.  A  i. 

^,  of  course,  added   new   life   to   the   boys,   and 
increased   speed   to  tin-  boat.     Their   little  MH06   th-w 
over  tin-  water  almust  like  a  bird,  carrying  a  while  ! 
in  her  inuuth,  and  leaving  a  long  ripple  un  the  gla>sy 
wave  behind  lier.     Charles'  hands  trembled,  hut  still 
he  did  good  execution  with  his  paddle.     Although  6 
phen  upon  the  run  was  a  very  dilfeivnt  thing  i'rom 

;'hen  at  a  slow  walk,  Charles  still  had  stn.nir  h- 
of  winning  the  race,  and  iraiiiinj;  his  p., in:.  IK- 
several  time-  eauirht  irliiupsesof  Stephen  through  the 
9,  and,  as  well  as  he  could  judge,  the  boat  had 
a  little  the  best  of  it.  But  when  they  came  «»ut  into 
the  last  opening,  where  fur  a  1!  they  had  a 

fair  view  <»f  each  other — Charles  thui:.  -hen  ran 

fa-ter  than  ever  ;  and  although  he  was   n  ier- 

ably  nearer  the  school-house  than  Stephen  was,  he 
still  trembled  for  the  result.  They  were  now  within 
lifty  rods  of  the  shore,  and  Charles  appealed  again  t«> 
the  boys'  love  of  money. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  we  have  not  a  minute  to  spare. 
If  we  gain  the  point,  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a-pi. 

The  buy>  .-trained  every  m-nv,  and  Charles'  paddle 
made  the  water  lly  like  the  tail  of  a  wounded  shark. 
"\Vheii  within  half  a  dozen  rods  of  th«-  .  <  u-les 

urged  them  again  to  spring  with  all  their  might,  and 


356 

one  of  the  boys  making  a  desperate  plunge  upon  his 
oar,  snapped  it  in  two.  The  first  pull  of  the  other 
oar  headed  the  boat  from  land.  Charles  saw  at  once 
that  the  delay  must  be  fatal,  if  he  depended  on  the 
boat  to  cany  him  ashore.  The  water  was  but  two 
feet  deep,  and  the  bottom  was  sandy.  He  sprang 
from  the  boat,  and  rushed  toward  the  shore  as  fast  as 
he  was  able  to  press  through  the  water.  He  flew  up 
the  bank,  and  along  the  road,  till  he  reached  the 
school-house.  The  door  was  open,  but  he  could  see 
no  one  within.  Several  children  were  at  play  round 
the  door,  who,  having  seen  Charles  approach  with 
such  haste,  stood  with  mouths  and  eyes  wide  open, 
staring  at  him. 

"  Where's  the  sclioolma'am  ?"  said  Charles,  hastily, 
to  one  of  the  largest  boys. 

"  Why,"  said  the  boy,  opening  his  eyes  still  wider, 
"  is  any  of  the  folks  dead  ?" 

"You  little  rascal,  I  say,  where's  the  school  ma'am?" 

"  She  just  went  <l«.\vn  that  road,"  said  the  boy, 
"  two  or  three  minutes  ago." 

"  Was  she  alone  ?"  said  Charles. 

"  She  started  alone,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  a  man 
met  her  out  there  a  little  ways,  and  turned  about  and 
went  with  her." 


A     RACE     FOB     A     S  \\  1 .1 .1  II  1    A  liT.  357 

Charles  felt  that  his  cake  was  all  douirh  airain,  and 
that  he  might  as  well  give  it  up  for  a  bad  job,  and  go 
home.  Stephen  Jones  and  Lucy  Brown  walked  very 
leisurely  home  through  the  woods,  and  Charles  and 
the  hoys  went  very  leisurely  in  the  boat  across  the 
pond.  They  even  stopped  by  the  way,  and  caught  a 
mess  of  fish,  since  the  boys  had  thrown  their  lines 
int«»  the  boat  when  they  started.  And  when  they 
reached  the  wharf,  Charles,  in  order  to  show  that  ho 
had  been  a  fishing,  took  a  large  string  of  the  ti>h  in 
his  hand,  and  carried  them  up  to  the  house.  Miss 
Lucy  Urown,  on  her  way  h.-nie  through  the  woods, 
had  undoubtedly  been  informed  of  the  proposed  tea- 
party  I'm-  the  evening,  t<»  which  she  was  to  he  invited, 
and  t«>  which  Stephen  Jones  and  Susan  Jones  were 
not  invited;  and  when  Miss  Lucy's  invitation  came, 
she  sent  word  back  that  she  was  engaged. 


358 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OLD     MYERS. 

IN  a  country  like  ours,  of  boundless  forests,  rapidly 
filling  np  witli  a  growing  and  widely  spreading  popu 
lation,  the  pioneers  of  the  wilderness,  those  hardy 
and  daring  spirits  who  take  their  lives  in  their  ham  Is, 
and  march,  in  advance  of  civilization,  into  the  wild 
woods,  to  endure  privations  among  the  wild  animals, 
and  run  the  hazard  of  wild  warfare  among  the  savage 
tribes,  form  a  very  peculiar  and  interesting  class. 
"Whether  it  is  a  natural  hardihood  and  boldness,  and 
love  of  adventure,  or  a  desire  for  retirement,  or  a 
wish  to  be  free  from  the  restraints  of  civilized  society, 
that  thus  leads  this  peculiar  class  of  people  into  the 
wilderness,  it  matters  not  now  to  inquire.  Probably 
all  these  motives,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  go  to 
.make  up  the  moving  principle. 

At  the  head  of  this  class  is  the  renowned  DamVl 
Boone,  whose  name,  will  live  as  lung  as  liis  Old  Ken 
tucky  shall  find  a  place  on  the  page  of  history.  lie 


OLD     M  v  r.  its. 

was  the  irreat   Napole..n  amou^  tlio  pioneers  ..f  I 
wilderness.     But  there  are  many  others  of  less  note, 
whose  lives  0  tilled  with   remarkable  adx 

tures,  and  curious  and  interesting  incidents.      Ind- 

every  State  in  tin-  I'nion  ha-  hail  more  or  leas  of  these 

characters,  which  1:0  to  make  up  the  cla-<.     One  of 

these  was  Old  Myers,   tlie   Panther:  a  man  «»f  imn 

constitution,  of  :  of  I)MHL-  and  muscle,  and 

an  indomitable  COimgQ  that  knewn«>  mixture  d'  tear. 

Four   time-,    in   tour  different  States,   had    Myers 

pitched    hi-    lonely   tent    in    the    wilderness,    an, 

a.ire  tril>es,  and  waited  tor  the  ;'  bite  popula- 

\ike  him  :   and  tour  time-  lie  had  "  ]>ulled 

up  stakes"  and  marched  -till  deeper  into  the  forest, 

where  he  mijj-ht  enjoy  HMIV  i-ll»«»w-room,  and  exclaim 

with  Selkirk, 

"I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey  — 
My  :  'i(i 


And  now,  at  the  time  <>f  which  we  speak,  hi-  had   a 
tilth  time  pitched  h:  1   struck   hi-   tire   on   the 

hanks   of   the    Illinois    river,   in    the   territory    which 
afterwards   irrew  up   to  a  State  of  the  same   n, 
Having  lived  so  much   in   the  wilderne-<,  and  associ 
ated   so  much  with  the   aborigines,  he  had   ac-p; 
much   of  their   hal.it-   and    mode  of  lite,   and    bl 


360 

location  on  the  Illinois  river,  he  soon  became  rather  ;t 
favorite  among  the  Indian  tribes  around  him.  His 
skill  with  the  rifle  and  the  bow,  and  his  personal 
feats  of  strength  and  agility,  were  well  calculated  to 
excite  their  admiration  and  applause.  He  often  took 
the  lead  among  them  in  their  games  of  sport.  It  was 
on  one  of  these  occasions  that  he  acquired  the 
additional  name  of  the  Panther. 

A  party  of  eight  or  ten  Indians,  accompanied  by 
Myers,  had  been  out  two  or  three  days  on  a  hunting 
excursion,  and  were  returning,  laden  with  the  spoils 
of  the  chase,  consisting  of  various  kinds  of  wild  fowl, 
squirrels,  racoons  and  buffalo-skins.  They  had  used 
all  their  ammunition  except  a  single  charge,  which 
was  reserved  in  the  rifle  of  the  chief  for  any  emer 
gency,  or  choice  game  which  might  present  itself  on 
the  way  home.  A  river  lay  in  the  way,  which  could 
be  crossed  only  at  one  point,  without  subjecting  them 
to  an  extra  journey  of  "some  ten  miles  round.  When 
they  arrived  at  this  point,  they  suddenly  came  upnn 
a  huge  panther,  which  had  taken  possession  of  the 
pass,  and,  like  a  skilful  general,  confident  of  his 
strong  position,  seemed  determined  to  hold  it.  The 
party  retreated  a  little,  and  stood  at  bay  for  a  while, 
and  consulted  what  should  be  done. 


OLD     M  v  ]•:  K8.  361 

Various  methods  were  attempted  to  decoy  or 
frighten  the  creature  from  hit.  position,  but  without. 
•e>s.  II.  -•!-. >wled  defiance  whenever  they  came 
in  sight,  as  much  as  to  say,  ••  It'  you  want  this  strong 
hold  come  ami  take  it  !"  Tlie  animal  appeared  to  be 
very  powerful  and  tierce.  The  trembling  Indians 
hardly  dared  to  come  in  sight  of  him,  and  all  the 
reconnoitering  had  t«»  be  done  by  Myers.  The 
majority  were  in  favor  of  retreating  as  fast  as  possi 
ble,  and  taking  the  li.ng  journey  of  ten  miles  round 
t<>r  home;  but  Myers  resolutely  resisted.  He  urged 
the  chief,  whose  ritle  was  loaded,  t-»  march  up  to  the 
panther,  take  good  aim  and  shoot  him  down;  pro- 
mi>ing  that  the  rest  of  the  party  would  back  him  up 
cloudy  with  their  knives  and  tomahawk>,  in  case  i.f  a 
miss-fire.  But  the  chief  refused  ;  he  knew  ton  well 
the  nature  and  power  of  the-  animal.  The  creature, 
lie  contended,  was  exceedingly  hard  to  kill.  Not  one 
shot  in  twenty,  however  well  aimed,  would  dispatch 
him  ;  and  if  one  aho(  failed,  it  was  a  sure  death  to 
tin-  ihooter,  for  the  infuriated  animal  would  spring 
upon  him  in  an  iiiMant,  and  tear  him  to  pieces.  For 
similar  reason-  every  Indian  in  the  party  declined  to 
ha/ard  a  battle  with  the  enemy  in  any  shape. 

At  la-t  Myers,  in  a  hurst  of  anger  and   impatience, 
16 


called  them  all  a  set  of  coward-,  and  snatching  tho 
leaded  rifle  from  the  hands  of  the  chief,  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  the  whole  party,  marched  deliherately  towards 
the  panther.  The  Indians  kept  at  a  cautious  distance, 
to  watch  the  result  of  the  fearful  battle.  Myers 
walked  steadily  up  to  within  about  two  rods  of  the 
panther,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  while  the 
eyes  of  the  panther  flashed  fire,  and  his  heavy  growl 
betokened  at  once  the  power  and  firmness  of  the 
animal.  At  about  two  rods  distance,  Myers  levelled 
his  rifle,  took  deliberate  aim,  and  fired.  The  shot 
inflicted  a  heavy  wound,  but  not  a  fatal  one  ;  and 
the  furious  animal,  maddened  with  the  pain,  made, 
hut  two  leaps  before  he  reached  his  assailant.  My  ITS 
met  him  with  the  butt  end  of  his  rille,  and  stair^-ivd 
him  a  little  with  two  or  three  heavy  blows,  but  tho 
rifle  broke,  and  the  animal  grappled  him,  apparently 
with  his  full  power.  The  Indians  at  once  gave  Myers 
up  for  dead,  and  only  thought  of  making  a  timely 
retreat  for  themselves. 

Fearful  was  the  struggle  between  Myers  and  the 
]. anther,  but  the  animal  had  the  best  of  it  at  tirst,  for 
they  soon  came  to  the  ground,  and  Myers  underneath, 
suffering  under  the  joint  operation  of  sharp  claws  and 
teeth,  applied  by  the  most  powerful  muscles .  In  fall- 


, 


OLD    M  v  I:RB. 

hov.          .  "  •'  'irlit  hand  was  at  lilu  I 

had  drawn  a  l"ii^  k'  etO  thu 

ground,  his  right  ami  hiding  free,  In-  made  a  dflspv 
plunge  at  the  vital-  of  tin-  animal,  and,  as  his  good 
liu-k  would  have  it,  reached  liis  la-art.  The-  loud 
shrinks  of  the  panther  showed  that  it  wa-  a  death- 
wnund.  I  lo  .juivi-rrtl  convulsively,  8h<»ok  liis  victim 
with  a  -pasnmdir  ,1  j.lnu^.,  then  loosem-d 

h.'ld,  ami  fell  i»Mwcrlcss  l.y  lii-  aide,    Myers,  whoso 
wounds  wi-iv  Severe  luit  !!-»t  mortal,  msc«  t<>  liis  !• 
Mi-cdinir,  and    inuch    exliaustcd,    luit    with  life  ami 
a  irrand  wlnn»j>,  which  c.in\cvcd  the 
n»-ws  «>f  his  v:  bifl  tivinlilin^  Indian  friends. 

line  uj>  !•»  him  with  shouting  and  jpy, 
and  so  lull  of  admiration  that  they  w  ;  ready 

to  \v..r>hij>  him.  Tlu-y  dreased  and  1»oiind  U]>  his 
wounds,  and  were  now  ready  to  pursue  their  journey 
home  without  the  le.  liment.  Be^OTO  dXMB 

the    river,   however,    Myei-s    cut    df   the   head   of  the 
panther,  which  he  took  home  with  him,  and 
it  up  l»y  tlio  side  of  hi-  i-al»in-d...,r,  vrbere  it  \\  ma' 

M  BTB,  a  memorial  of  a  deed  that  e.xc-ited  the  admi 
ration  of  tho  Indians  in  all  that  region.  From  that 
time  forth  they  gave  Myers  that  name,  and  always 
called  him  the  Panther. 


Time  rolled  on,  and  the  Panther  continued  to 
occupy  his  hut  in  the  wilderness,  on  the  hanks  of  the 
Illinois  river,  a  general  favorite  among  the  savages, 
and  exercising  great  influence  over  them.  At  last  the 
tide  of  white  population  again  overtook  him,  and  lie 
found  himself  once  more  surrounded  by  white  neigh 
bors.  Still,  however,  he  seemed  loth  to  forsake  the 
noble  Illinois,  on  whose  banks  lie  had  been  so  long  a 
fixture,  and  he  held  on,  forming  a  sort  of  connecting 
link  between  the  white  settlers  and  the  Indians. 

At  length  hostilities  broke  out,  which  resulted  in 
the  memorable  Black  Hawk  AVar,  that  spread  desola 
tion  through  that  part  of  the  country.  Parties  of 
Indians  committed  the  most  wanton  and  cruel  depre 
dations,  often  murdering  old  friends  and  companions, 
with  whom  they  had  held  long  conversation.  The 
white  sc-ttlers,  tor  some  distance  round,  flocked  to  the 
cabin  of  the  Panther  for  protection.  His  cabin  was 
transformed  into  a  sort  of  garrison,  and  was  filled  by 
more  than  a  hundred  men,  women,  and  children,  who 
rested  almost  their  only  hope  of  safety  on  the  prowess 
of  the  Panther,  and  his  influence  over  the  savages. 

At  this  time  a  party  «>f  about  nine  hundred  of  the 
Iroquois  tribe  were  on  the  banks  of  the  Illinois, 
a  mile  from  the  garrison  of  Myers,  and  nearly 


OLD    MY  i  i:  s  .  365 

the  present  town  of   La   Salic.     Out-  day  news 

wa<  brought  to  tin1  camp  •  •:'  M  -.  that  his  brother- 
in-law  ami  wife,  ami  their  three  children,  had  been 
cruelly  murdered  l>y  some  of  the  Indians.  The  Pan 
ther  heard  the  sad  news  in  ailenoe.  The  eyes  of  the 
people  were  upon  him,  to  see  what  he  would  d<>. 
1'iVM-ntly  they  hehel«l  him  with  a  deliberate  and 

';iined  air,  puttinir  himself  in  battle  array.  He 
girded  on  his  tomahawk  and  scalpinir-knife,  and 
shouldered  his  loaded  riile,  and.  at  open  mid-day, 
silently  ami  alone,  bent  his  steps  towanU  the  Indian 
encampment.  AVith  a  fearless  and  firm  tread,  he 
marched  directly  into  the  midst  of  the  assembly, 

ted  his  rifle  at  the  head  of  the  principal  chi«-f 

at,  and  shot  him  dead  <>n  the  spot.  He  then 
deliberately  severed  the  head  fr.>m  tin  trunk,  and 
holding  it  up  by  the  hair  before  the  awe-struck  multi 
tude.  In-  exclaimed,  "  Y«>n  hav«-  murdered  my  brother- 
in-law,  his  wife  and  their  little  «»ms;  and  now  I  have 
mnnlen-d  y..ur  chief.  I  am  m.w  0700  with  y..u. 
I5ut  now  mind,  every  one  of  y«»u  that  is  found 

t. -morrow  mornim:  at  snnr  .  ,;  drad  In 
dian!" 

All  this  was  accomplished  without  the  h-a<t  molesta- 

from  the  Indian-.     'I'h.-M-  p. '-pie  are  accust 


366 

to  regard  any  remarkable  deed  of  daring  as  the 
result  of  some  supernatural  agency  ;  and  doubtless  so 
considered  the  present  incident.  Believing  their 
chief  had  fallen  a  victim  to  some  unseen  power,  they 
were  stupified  with  terror,  and  looked  on  without 
even  a  thought  of  resistance.  Myers  bore  off  the 
head  in  triumph  to  his  cabin,  where  he  was  welcomed 
by  his  anxious  friends,  almost  as  one  returning  fn  >m 
the  dead.  The  next  morning  not  an  Indian  wa<  to  In- 
found  anywhere  in  the  vicinity.  Their  camps  wore 
deserted,  and  they  left  forever  their  ancient  haunt* 
and  their  dead,  and  that  part  of  the  State  was  not 
molested  by  them  afterwards. 

Hie  last  account  we  have  of  Old  My  era,  the  Pan 
ther,  was  in  1838.  The  old  man  was  eighty  years  of 
age,  but  his  form  was  still  erect,  and  his  steps  were 
iinii;  his  eyes  were  not  dim,  nor  his  natural  force 
abated.  Up  to  that  time  lie  had  remained  on  the 
banks  of  his  favorite  Illinois.  But  now  the  old 
veteran  pioneer  grew  discontented.  The  State  was 
rapidly  filling  up  with  inhabitants,  and  the  f<>nns  and 
n-Mraints  of  civilization  prc-< ed  upon  him.  The 
wild  ness  and  fresh  iie-s  of  the  country  were  destroyed. 
He  looked  abroad  from  his  old  favorite  hills,  and  he 
saw  that  in  every  direction  the  march  of  civilization 


OLD      M  V  KK8. 

broken  in  up.,?!  the  repose  of  the  old  foivst,  and 
hi*  heart  again  yearned 

"  For  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit, 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war, 
•  never  reach  him  more." 

"M   man   talked   about   selling  out  and 
more  u  pulling  up  stakes  n  to  be  off. 

M  What?"  slid  a  neighbor,  "  not  goinir  t<> 

le;nv    08,    Katlier   ^1  id    take    yOQOelf    to    tiu- 

woods  a^ain  in  y«»ur  uld  i( 

-  Vi->,"   B^d    Myer-,   "I   can't   stand   this   ct- 
lnistle  ut'  tlie  world  an.und  me.      I  must  IK-  nil'  in  tlu: 
.  where  it  is  (jiiirt,  and  as  soon  as  I  can  sell  out 
my  imprnvi-Mu'Mts,  I  shall  make  track.-." 

venerable  M  squatter  "had  n«»  tee  in  the  land 

he   occupied,  but   the    improvements,    on   it   were  his 
own,  and  it  was  not  loin:  U •:'•.. iv  a  gentleman  a] 
who  Mtl'eivd  a  fair  equivalent  tor  those,  with  a  right 
to   j.urchase  the  soil.     T  ;ain  was  coni]»loted, 

an«l  the  moriey  counted  out,  and  the  Panther  U-iran 
to  prepare  t'-r  his  depart! 

k-  Where  are  you  going,  Father  Myers?"  said  the 
neighbor. 


368  '  \v  A  v     i  >  ( >  \v  \    E  A  s  T  . 

"  Well,  I  reckon,"  said  the  old  Panther,  "  I  shall  go 
away  off  somewhere  to  the  further  side  of  Missouri ; 
I  understand  the  people  haint  got  there  yet,  and 
there's  plenty  of  woods  there." 

He  proceeded  to  array  himself  for  his  journey. 
He  put  on  the  same  hunting-shirt  which  he  wore 
when  lie  killed  the  Indian  chief.  He  loaded  his  rifle 
and  girded  on  his  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife ;  and, 
having  'ilK-d  his  knapsack  with  such  articles  as  he 
chose  to  carry  with  him,  he  buckled  it  upon  his  shoul 
ders,  and  giving  a  farewell  glance  round  the  cabin, 
he  sallied  forth  and  took  the  western  road  for  Mis 
souri.  When  he  had  reached  a  little  eminence  SOUK- 
rods  distant,  he  was  observed  to  hesitate,  and  stop, 
and  look  back.  Presently  he  returned  slowly  to  the 
cabin. 

"  Have  you  forgot  anything,  Father  Myers?"  said 
the  occupant. 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  must  take  the 
1  K-ad  of  the  panther  along  with  me,  if  you  have  no 
objections." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  "  any  personal 
matters  you  have  a  perfect  right  to." 

The  old  man  took  down  the  drifd-up  ivmains  of 
the  panther's  head  from  the-  wall,  whore  it  liad  IIIIIILT 


OLD     MYERS. 

for  many  years,  and   fastened   it  to  his   knapsack. 

Then  taking  one  last  lingering  look  of  the  pivm 
he    turned    to    the    occupant,    and    asked   if  he  was 
willing  he  should  give  his  "grand  yell "  before  he 
-;arted  on  his  journey. 

"  Certainly,  Father  Myers,"  said  the  gentleman ; 
"  1  wish  you  to  exercise  the  utmost  freedom  in  all 
personal  matters  before  you  leave." 

At  this  the  old  Panther  gave  a  long,  and  loud, 
-la-ill  wh<>op,  that  rang  through  the  welkin,  and  was 
echoed  by  forest  and  hills  for  miles  around. 

"  There,"  said  the  old  man,  "  now  my  blessing  is 
on  the  land  and  on  you.     Your  ground  will  al\\ 
yield  an  abundance,  and  you  will  always  prosper." 

ii  Old  Myers,  the  Panther,  turned  his  lace  to 
the  westward,  and  took  up  his  solitary  march  for  the 
distant  wilderm— . 


370 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

SETH    WOODSUM'S    WIFE. 

As  Mr.  Seth  Woodsum  was  mowing  one  morning 
in  his  lower  haying  field,  and  his  eldest  son,  Obediah, 
a  smart  boy  of  thirteen,  was  opening  the  mown  grass 
to  the  sun,  Mr.  AVoodsum  looked  up  towards  his 
house,  and  beheld  his  little  daughter  Harriet,  ten 
years  of  age,  running  towards  him  with  her  utmost 
speed.  As  she  came  up,  he  perceived  she  was  greatly 
agitated ;  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks,  and 
she  had  scarcely  breath  enough  to  speak. 

"O,  father,"  she  faintly  articulated,  "mother  is 
dreadful  sick ;  she's  on  the  bed,  and  says  she  shall  die 
before  you  get  there." 

Mr.  Woodsum  was  a  man  of  a  sober,  sound  mind, 
and  calm  nerves ;  but  he  had,  what  sometimes  hap 
pens  in  this  cold  and  loveless  world  of  ours,  a  tender 
attachment  for  his  wife,  which  made  tin-  n: 
the  little  girl  fall  upon  his  heart  like  a  dagger.  He 
dropped  his  scythe,  and  ran  with  LTIVU!  haste  f<>  tho 


>  K  F  H       W  <>«»  Its  I    M  '  .-       \\    I  1    I    .  371 

house.     Obediah,  who   was  at  the  other  end  of  the 

tield,   seeing   this   unusual  movement   of  his  father, 

dropped  his  f«>rk,  and  ran  with  all  his  might,  and  the 

iiteivd  the  house  almost  at  the  same  time. 

Mr.  Woodsum  hastened  to  the  bedside,  and  took 
his  wife's  hand.  "  My  dear  Sally,"  said  he,  "  what  is 
the  matter?" 

••What  is  the  matter?"  echoed  Mrs.  Woodsum, 
with  a  plaintive  groan.  "I  shouldn't  think  yon 
would  need  to  a.-k  what  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Woodsum. 
Don't  you  B66  1  am  dying?" 

M  Why,  no,  Sally,  you  don't  look  as  if  you  was 
dying.  What  />•  the  matter?  how  do  you  feel?" 

"Oh,  I  shan't  live  till  night,"  Mid  Mrs.  Woodsum 
with  a  heavy  sigh  ;  "  I  am  going  6 

M ..  \\'  team,  without  waiting  to  make  further 
inquiries,  t«»ld  OheJiah  to  run  and  jump  on  to  the 
h"i>e,  and  ride  <»ver  after  D«»ctnr  Fairtield,  and  get 
him  to  come  over  as  <|uick  as  he  can  come.  "  'I 
him  I  am  afraid  your  mother  is  dyiujr.  If  the  doctor's 
hoise  i-  KWmy  oil'  in  the  pasture,  ask  him  to  take  our 
hor>e  and  Come  right  away  over,  while  y.-u  go  and 
cateh  his." 

dialu  with  tears  in  his  ryes,  and  his  heart  in  his 
mouth,  flow  as  though  he  had  wings  added  to  his  feet, 


372  W  AY       l>o  \V  \      l ;  AST. 

and  in  three  minutes'  time,  was  mounted  upon  Old 
Grey,  and  galloping  with  full  speed  towards  Doctor 
Fairfield's. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Woodsum,  leaning  his  head 
upon  the  pillow,  "  how  do  you  feel  ?  AY  1 1 at  1 1  lakes  you 
think  you  are  dying?''  And  he  tenderly  kissed  her 
forehead  as  he  spoke,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his 
bosom. 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  for  she  generally  called  him  by  his 
Christian  name,  when  under  the  influence  of  tender 
emotions ;  "  Oh,  Samuel,  I  feel  dreadfully.  I  have 
pains  darting  through  my  head,  and  most  all  over 
me ;  and  I  feel  dizzy,  and  can't  hardly  see ;  and  my 
heart  beats  as  though  it  would  come  through  my  side. 
And  besides,  I  feel  as  though  I  was  dying.  I'm  sure 
I  can't  live  till  night ;  and  what  will  become  of  my 
poor  children  ?"  And  she  sobbed  heavily  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Mr.  Woodsum  was  affected.  He  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  his  wife  was  in  such  immediate 
danger  of  dissolution  as  she  seemed  to  apprehend. 
He  thought  she  had  no  appearance  of  a  dying  person ; 
but  still  her  earnest  and  positive  declarations,  that 
she  should  not  live  tl  in  nigh  the  day,  sent  a  thrill 
through  his  veins,  and  a  sinking  to  his  heart  that  no 


8  E  T  H     W  O  O  D  8  U  M  '  8     Will:.  373 

language  has  power  to  describe.  Mr.  AVoodsura  was 
as  ignorant  <>t'  medicine  as  a  child  ;  lie  therefore  <li<l 
ii"t  attempt  to  do  anything  to  relieve  his  wile,  except 
to  try  to  soothe  her  feelings  by  kind  and  encouraging 
words,  till  tin-  d"ctor  arrived.  The  halt'  Imur  which 
elapsed,  from  the  time  Obediah  left  till  the  doctor 
came,  seemed  to  Mr.  Woodsum  almost  an  age.  IK- 
repeatedly  rout  tr..m  the  bedside  to  the  door,  to  look 
and  see  it'  the  doctor  wa>  anywbere  nrar,  and  as 
«.lu-ii  rrturned  t«>  hear  his  wile  gr«> an,  and  say  she  was 
sinking  la-t,  and  e«»uld  n<>t  stand  it  many  minutes 

Lonirer. 

o 

At  K-nirtli  l)..ct..r  Fairfield  rode  up  t«»  tbe  door,  on 
Mr.  WtHMlsumV  Old  <i ivy,  and  with  saddh'-liairs  in 
hand,  hiisu-ned  into  the  liouse.  A  liriet'  examination 
«.('  tin-  patient  convinced  him  that  it  was  a  decided 
case  of  hypochondria,  and  he  soon  spoke  encouraging 
W'.nU  to  her,  and  told  her  although  S1K.  w;ls  (.,,n<ider- 
ably  unwell,  he  di«l  not  doubt  she  would  lie  better  in 
a  little-  while. 

"Oh,  Doctor,  how  can  you  say  so?"  said    Mrs. 
;    "don't  yon  see  I  am   dyin^f     I    can't 
live  till  niirbt ;  I  am  sink  in-.:  very  t'a-t,  I  )o< 
and  I  shall  never  see  the  sun  rise  again.      My  h 
i es  almost  stops  its  beating  now,  and  my  : 


374 

and  hands  are  growing  cold.  But  I  must  see  iny 
dear  children  once  more ;  do  let  'em  come  in  and  bid 
me  farewell."  Here  she  was  so  overwhelmed  with 
sobs  and  tears  as  to  prevent  her  saying  more. 

The  doctor,  perceiving  it  was  in  vain  to  talk  or  try 
to  reason  with  her,  assured  her  that  as  long  as  there 
was  life  there  was  hope,  and  told  her  he  would  give 
her  some  medicine  that  he  did  not  doubt  would  help 
her.  He  accordingly  administered  the  drugs  usually 
approved  by  the  faculty  in  such  cases,  and  telling  her 
that  lie  would  call  and  see  her  again  in  a  day  or  two, 
he  left  .the  room.  As  he  went  out,  Mr.  "Woodsum 
followed  him,  and  desired  to  know,  in  private,  his  real 
opinion  of  the  case.  The  doctor  assured  him  lie  did 
not  consider  it  at  all  alarming.  It  was  only  an 
ordinary  case  of  hypochondria,  and  with  proper  tivat- 
ment  the  patient  would  undoubtedly  get  better. 

"It  is  a  case,"  continued  the  doctor,  "in  which  the 
mind  needs  to  be  administered  to  as  much  as  the 
body.  Divert  her  attention  as  much  as  possible  by 
cheerful  objects;  let  her  bo  surrounded  by  agree 
able  company;  give  her  a  light,  but  generous  and 
nutritive  diet ;  and  a<  BOOH  as  may  be,  get  her  to  take 
iivntle  exercise  in  the  open  air,  by  riding  on  horse- 
Lack,  or  running  about  the  fields  and  iratluTinir  fruits 


t 


8  E  T  1 1      \\  o  o  i  >  s  U  M    8      W I FB .  .'•!.» 

ami  fWv  'inpany   with  lively  and  coin 

companions.      Follow   these  directions,  and  continue 
t«>   administer  the   medicines  1   have  ordered,  and  I 

think  Mrs.  AVoodMim   will  soon  enjoy  good   health 

/ 

in." 

Mr.  Woodsum  felt  much  relieved  after  hearing  the 
doctor's  opinion  and  pivscriptinns,  and  hade  the  kind 
j>hysieian  good  morning  with  a  tok-rahly  cheerful 
countenance.  Most  assiduously  did  lie  follow  the 
doctor's  directions,  ami  in  a  few  days  he  had  the  hap 
piness  to  see  his  U-loved  wile  airain  enjoying  tok-raMe 

lu-alth,  and  pursuini:  her  <l..mcstic  duties  with   cheer- 

» 
fulness. 

But  alas  !  his  sun>hine  «>f  h'»pe  -'as  destine<l  soon 
to  !„.  ..hscmvd  apiin  hy  the  clouds  of  sorrow  and 
(lisai']»ointment.  It  wa-  m>t  Inner  In-fore  -ome  change 
in  the  weather,  and  cl,  in  her  habits  of  living 

an«l  D  n  air.  Brought 

on  a  return  «»f  Mrs.  Woodsum's  gloom  and  despon- 
,   in   all    their  territie    ]»«»wer.      A-aiu   she   was 
Hiirhing    and    we»-].inir    on    the    l»ed,   and    airain    Mr. 
Woodsum  was  ha-tily  summone.l  fr.,m   the  field,  and 

•  ti^li  in  mid-furr.iW,  ran  with  l>iv; 

anxiety   to   the   li..u^-.   where    I  e  scenes  were 

witiu-ssi-d    which    W(  already   des« 


876  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

Not  only  once  or  twice,  but  repeatedly  week  after 
week,  and  month  after  month,  these  exhibitions  were 
given,  and  followed  by  similar  results.  Each  relapse 
seemed  to  be  more  severe  than  the  previous  one,  and 
on  each  occasion  Mrs.  Woodsum  was  more  positive 
than  ever  that  she  was  on  her  death-bed,  and  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  help  for  her. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  so  strong  was  her 
impression  that  her  dissolution  was  near,  and  so 
anxious  did  she  appear  to  make  every  preparation  for 
death,  and  with  such  solemn  earnestness  did  she  attend 
to  certain  details,  preparatory  to  leaving  her  family  for 
ever,  that  Mr.  Woodsum  almost  lost  the  hope  th:»t 
usually  attended  him  through  these  scenes,  and  felt, 
more  than  ever  before,  that  what  he  had  so  often 
feared,  was  indeed  about  to  become  a  painful  and 
awful  reality.  Most  tenderly  did  Mrs.  Woodsum 
touch  upon  the  subject  of  her  separation  from  her 
husband  and  children. 

"Our  poor  children — what  will  become  of  them 
when  I  am  gone  ?  And  you,  dear  Samuel,  how  can 
I  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  you?  I  could  feel 
reconciled  to  dying,  if  it  was  not  for  the  tlmu^lits  of 
leaving  you  and  the  children.  They  will  have 
nobody  to  take  care  of  them,  as  a  mother  would,  poor 


BETH    WOODSUM'S    win.  -77 

things;  and  then  y«>u  will  be  so  lonesome — it  breaks 

n iy  heart  to  think  of  it." 

Here,  her  feeling  overpowered  her,  an«l  she  was 
unablu  to  proceed  any  further.  Mr.  Woodsum  was 
for  80016  time  tOO  nrach  affected  to  make  any  reply. 
At  last,  summoning  all  his  fortitude,  and  as  much 
calmness  as  he  could,  he  told  her  it'  it  wa-  the  will 
fence  that  she  should  be  separated  tr-.m 
tliem.  he  hoped  her  la<t  hours  would  not  be  pained 
with  anxious  solicitude  about  the  future  welt';; 
the  family.  It  was  true,  the  world  would  be  a  dreary 
place  to  him  when  she  was  irmie;  but  he  <hi>uld 

•hiltlivn    with   him,   and    with    the    blessing   of 
'i.  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  make  them 
comfortable  and  happy. 

-  Well,  there's  «.m-  thinir,  dear  Samuel,"  said  Mrs. 

Woodsum,  -that   I  ft-el   it  my  duty  t«>  -peak  to  you 

about."      And     she    pressed    his    hand    in    hers,    and 

-olemnly    and    carm-tly    in    his     face. 

u  You  know,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  "how  sad  and 

R&6  a  family  of  children  alway- 

of  a  mot!  v  may  hav«-  a  kind  father,  and  kind 

friends,  but  n-  i.j»ly  the  plac.-  of  a  motlicr. 

I  frel  a<  if  it  would  be  your  duty     and    I    c»uld   n.,t 
die    in    peace,    if    1    did  n't  -f    it       I    feel,   dear 


378  'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

Samuel,  as  if  it  would  be  your  duty  as  soon  aft  or  I 
am  gone  as  would  appear  decent,  to  marry  some  good 
and  kind  woman,  and  bring  her  into  the  family  to  be 
the  mother  of  our  poor  children,  and  to  make  ymir 
home  happy.  Promise  me  that  you  will  do  this,  and 
I  think  it  wrill  relieve  me  of  some  of  the  distress  I 
feel  at  the  thought  of  dying." 

This  remark  was,  to  Mr.  "Woodsum,  most  unex 
pected  and  most  painful.  It  threw  an  anguish  into 
his  heart,  such  as  he  had  never  cxprrienced  till  that 
moment.  It  forced  upon  his  contemplation  a  thought 
that  had  never  before  occurred  to  him.  The  idea  of 
being  bereaved  of  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  whom  lie 
had  loved  and  cherished  for  liftceii  years  with  the 
ardent  attachment  of  a  fond  husband,  had  over 
whelmed  him  with  all  the  bitterness  of  woe;  but  the 
thought  of  transferring  that  attachment  to  another 
object,  brought  with  it  a  double  desolation.  His  asso 
ciations  before  had  all  clothed  his  love  for  his  wife 
with  a  feeling  oi' immortality.  She  might  be  removed 
from  him  to  another  world,  hut  he  had  not  felt  as 
though  that  would  di>^'lve  the  holy  bond  that  united 
them.  His  love  would  soon  follow  her  to  those  eternal 
realms  of  bli>s,  and  rest  upon  her  like  a  mantle  for 
ever.  I  Jut  this  new  and  startling  idea,  «»f  h-ve  for 


SET  II     WOODs;  879 


another,  came  to  him,  as  cmi: 

of  annihilation  of  the  soul  -an  idea,  compared  with 
which  no  decree  of  ini-ery  imaginable  is  half  SO 
terrihle.  A  cloud  of  intense  darkness  seemed  f>r  :i 

moment   to  over-hadow  him,  his  heart  sank   within 
him,  and  his  whole  frame  trembled  with  agitation.     It 
wa-  some  minute-  hefoiv  he  could  tind  power  to  <j, 
And  wlien  lie  did,  it  was  only  to  beseech   hi-  wit'e.  in 
a  soli-inn  tone,  not  to  allude  to  so  distressing  a  subject 

in.  a  sul.ject  which  lie  could  not  think  of  n<  .p  -ju-ak 
of,  without  MitlVrinir  m.»iv  than  a  thousand  deaths. 
The    strong    ]nental    anguish    of    Mr.    Wopdsum 

!ied  to  have  the  elleet   to  divert  his    wife'-    a; 
tion    from    her  own  suilorin-rs,   and   by   tuniin«r 

•ions   into   a    IK-W   channel,    gave    her  an 

opportunity  to  rally.     She  gradually  LTIVW  better,  as 
she  had   <loiie   in   like  ca-es   bcfon-,  and    even    bef 
ni^ht  was  able  to  -it  up,  and  became  qm\  d. 

But   her   malady  was  only  su.-peiided,   not    cured; 
and  airain  and  airain  it  returned  upon   her.  and  aj 
and  airain  her  friends  were  sumn.  «fitnc-s  her 

la-t    -iekness,  and   take  their   last  farewell.      And 
tli.'se  occasions,  she  had  so  often  -li-htly  and  deli- 

'y  hinted  to   Mr.  Woodsum  the  prop  his 

marrying  a  second   wife,  that   even   //,    could  at  last 


380  '  w  AY    j  >  o  w  \     i ;  A  s  T  . 

listen  to  the  suggestion  with  a  degree  of  indifference 
which  he  had  once  thought  he  could  never  feel. 

At  last,  the  sober  saddening  days  of  autumn  cam.' 
on.  Mr.  AVoodsum  wa<  in  the  midst  of  hi-  "tall 
work,"  which  had  heen  several  times  interrupted  hy 
these  periodical  turns  of  despondency  in  his  wile. 
One  morning  he  went  to  his  field  early,  for  he  had  a 
heavy  day's  work  to  do,  and  had  engaged  one  of 
his  neigh hors  to  come  with  two  yoke  of  oxen  and  a 
plough  to  help  him  "break  up7'  an  old  mowing 
field.  1 1  is  neighbor  could  only  help  him  that  day, 
and  lie  was  very  anxious  to  plough  the  whole  field. 
lie  accordingly  had  left  the  children  and  nurse  in  the 
bouse,  with  strict  charges  to  take  good  care  <>f  their 
mother.  Mr.  Woodsum  was  driving  the  team  and 
bis  neighbor  was  holding  the  plough,  and  things  went 
on  to  tli eir  mind  till  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon, 
when  little  Harriet  came  running  to  the  field,  and 
told  her  father  that  her  mother  was  "  dreadful  sick  " 
and  wanted  him  to  come  in  as  quick  as  he  could,  for 
she  was  certainly  dying  now.  Mr.  Woodsum,  with-  >ut 
saying  a  word,  drove  his  team  to  the  end  of  the 
furn»w;  but  he  looked  thoughtful  and  perplexed. 
Although  he  felt  per>uaded  that  her  danger  was 
imaginary,  as  it  hud  always  proved  to  be  before,  still, 


d      WOO!  WIFE. 


381 


the  idea  of  the  bare  possibility  that  th:  '•//</ 

l.o  untu  death,  pressed  upon  him  with  such  power, 
that    ho    laid    down    his    <:<>ad->tick,   and    tolling 
neighbor    to    lot    the   oattlo    breathe   awhile,   walked 
deliberately    towards    tho    house.      Before    lio    had 
acc'-mplMied   tho  wh"K-  •.   however,  his  own 

imagination  had  added  such  win<rs  to  his  speed,  that 
lie  found  himself  innvini:  at  a  quick  run.  lie  entered 
the  house,  and  found  his  wife  as  he  had  >o  often  found 
her  before,  in  her  own  estimation,  almost  ready  to 
hreathe  her  la-t.  IK  r  voice  was  faint  and  low,  and 
her  pillow  was  wet  with  tear-.  She  had  already  taken 
her  leave  of  her  dear  children,  and  waited  only  to 
cxchanirf  a  few  parting  words  with  her  l>elo\rd  hus 
band.  Mr.  Wo«,d>um  approached  the  hed-ide,  and 
took  her  hand  tenderly,  a>  he  had  ever  been  w.»nt  to 
do,  l.ut  he  could  not  perceive  any  symptoms  of 
approach inir  dissolution,  ditfen-nt  from  what  he  had 
witnessed  on  a  dozen  former  occasions. 

UN0W,    my    dear,"    said    Mrs.   Woodsum,    faintly, 
"the  time  has  cnine  at  1:  d    that   1  am   on    my 

death-hod,  junl  have  l.ut  a  short   time  longer  to  stay 
with  you.      T.ut  I  liope   we  shall  feel  1   to  the 

will    of   llea\en.      I    would    j  -iilly,   dear,  if  it 

|  n.,t  f..r  my  anxiety  about   y.-n   and   the  children. 


'WAY    DOWN    EAST. 

Now,  don't  you  think,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  with 
increasing  tenderness,  "don't  you  think  it  would  be 
best  for  you  to  be  married  again  to  some  kind  good 
woman,  that  would  be  a  mother  to  our  dear  little 
"iirs,  and  make  your  home  pleasant  lor  all  of  you  ?" 

She  paused,  and  looked  earnestly  in  his  boa 

"  Well,  I've  sometimes  thought,  of  late,  it  might  be 
best,"  said  Mr.  Woodsum,  with  a  very  solemn  air. 

"  Then  you  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodsum,  with  a  sliglit  contract  inn  of  the  muscles 
of  the  face. 

"Why,  yes, v  said  Mr.  Wondsum,  k' I  have  some 
times  thought  about  it,  since  you've  had  spells  of 
being  so  very  sick.  It  makes  me  feel  dreadfully  to 
think  of  it,  but  I  don't  know  but  it  might  be  my  duty." 

"  Well,  I  do  think  it  would,"  said  Mrs.  Woodsum, 
"if  you  can  only  get  the  right  sort  of  a  person. 
Everything  depends  upon  that,  my  dear,  and  I  hope 
y«-u  will  be  very  particular  about  who  you  get,  very." 

"I   certainly  shall,"   said    Mr.  Woodsum;    "don't 
6  yourself  any    nncasine.-s   about    thai,    my    dear, 
for  1  assure  you  1  >liall  be  very  particular.     The   per 
son  I  shall   probably  have   is  one  of  the  kindest  and 
empered  women  in  the  world." 

••  l>ul  hav-'   yon  been   thinking  of  any  one  in   par- 


s  E  T  n   WOODSUM'S    w  I  r  s . 

ticular,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Wondsum,  with  a  mani- 
•>s. 

••  Why,  ye>,"  said    Mr.    Wond-uni,   "there   is  one, 
that     I    have    thought    i'>r   some    time    pa-:.    I    >hould 
prohahlv  marrv,  it'  it  should  he  the  will  of  Pn>vi<l« 
to  take  y.ni  1'rom 

"And  pray.  Mr.  Wo,,d>um,  wlm  can  it  bef  >ai«l 
tlie  witi',  with  an  expre^i-'n.  m«>iv  ••!'  i-arth  than 
lu-aven.  ivtuniiii-M'.liercye.  "AVhois  it,  Mr.  \V,H,,1- 
suin  '.  Vmi  have  n't  named  it  t«.  h.-r,  have  ymi  f 

k-()li,    hy   nn   means"  >ai«l    Mr.    \V.....Nuni  ;    "hut 
my  «lear.  we  had  hetter  dn>p   the  Mil.ject  ;   it 
\«»M  t*'M  iiiueh/' 

"  lint,  Mr.  \V<.,Ml>uin.  y«>u  mii-t  tell  nir  wh.»  it  is; 
1  nevrr  c.iul.l  die  in  peace  till  y«»u  <1«»." 

"  It  is  a  -uhjrct    fcOQ   ['aint'iil   t<>   think   ah 

Mr.  \V l-iiin.  "and  it  don't  a[>j>ear  to   uu-   it    would 

Btf  t->  call  na- 

••  lint    L  in>ist   upon  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wood>um,  who 
had  hy  this  time  nii>rd  hci-M-lt'  up  with  ^reat  i-arnost- 
iii'-s  and  was  h-aninir  «»n  her  elh«.w,  while  1: 
Ld;r  •  idfl    in    her  hu-hand's 

"  Mr.  Wood-uiu,  1  in-ist  upon  it  |" 

u  Well,  then."  >ai«l  Mr.  \V.>od-iini.  wit!:  a  -i-h.  "  it' 
\ou  in-i-t  ii[»oii  it,  m\  it'  it 


384  '  \v  AY     DO  w  N     i;  AST. 

should  be  the  will  of  Providence  t<>  take  you  from  us, 
t<»  l»e  here  no  more,  I  have  thought  I  should  marry 
tor  my  second  wife,  Hannah  Lovejoy." 

An  earl  lily  fire  once  more  flashed  from  Mrs. 
Woodsum's  eyes — she  leaped  from  the  bed  like  a  cat ; 
walked  across  the  room,  and  seated  herself  in  a  chair. 

"What!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  trembling  voice 
almost  choked  with  a<ritati»»n — u  what !  marry  that 
idle,  sleepy  slut  of  a  Hannah  Lovejoy!  Mr.  Wood- 
sum,  that  is  too  much  for  flesh  and  blood  to  bear — I 
can't  endure  that,  nor  I  won't.  Hannah  Lovejoy  to 
IK-  the  mother  of  my  children!  No,  that's  what  she 
never  shall.  So  you  may  go  to  your  ploughing,  Mr. 
Woodsinn',  and  set  your  heart  at  rest.  Susan,"  >ln- 
CMiiiinued,  "makeup  more  fire  under  that  dinner  ]"  ." 

Mr.  Woodsum  went  to  the  field,  and  pursued  his 
work,  and  when  he  returned  at  noon,  he  found  dinner 
well  prepared,  and  his  wife  ready  to  do  the  honors  of 
the  table.  Mrs.  Woodsum's  health  from  that  day  con 
tinued  to  improve,  and  she  was  never  afterward  visited 
by  the  terrible  affliction  of  hypochondria. 


THE     END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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14May'63)E 

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